Te Deum
by O'MalleytheAlleyCat
Summary: Dean never met back up with his brother. Sam meanwhile was never left alone by hunters. It's been a year and the brothers find each other. Forgiveness and torture. Season 5.
1. Chapter 1

Te Deum

Summary: Dean never met back up with his brother. Sam meanwhile was never left alone by hunters. It's been a year and the brothers find each other. Forgiveness and torture. Season 5.

I seem to be obsessed with season five and then putting the hurt on Sam like there is no tomorrow. Many thanks to seitanspawn, my beta, for fixing this.

I would like to credit AlElizabeth for the inspiration that was her story 'The Weapon'. You should check it out, or actually wait and finish mine, hers is much better. I borrowed a few plot details (after asking her of course).

* * *

It had been a year and three months since Dean had split from his brother. Fifteen months of separation had passed, most of which Dean had spent wondering when the world was going to end. Zachariah's vision had proved that Sam would say yes, if left alone, and Sam was doing a damn good job of being left alone. Dean had spent a month looking. He'd even turned to Castiel for assistance. However, at some point in the midst of their fevered searching that revealed nothing except that Bobby hadn't heard anything and all of the burner phones that connected Dean to Sam had been tossed, Cas had pulled Dean aside.

A harried conversation had ensued; angels could be very demanding when they wanted to be.

"This is futile Dean."

Dean had raised a brow, the gesture filled with attitude and barely concealing his state of panic. It felt like his brother could say "yes" at any given moment, that, in one second, everything would be fine, but in the next, the horror-filled future would be upon them. Dean feared that future. He feared the death and contamination(?) that pervaded life there, he feared the loss of his brother to a monster with no fashion sense, and most of all, he feared the person who he had become without Sam. He never wanted to be so heartless and empty.

"We must find your brother, but Lucifer is dangerous with or without Sam as his vessel. We need to find a way to destroy or stop him."

"Defeating the devil is going to be a hell of a lot harder with him occupying his true vessel. Making sure Sam doesn't say yes is our top priority, and the only way we're going to be able to do that is by having Sam with us."

And by "us," of course, Dean meant himself.

"I do not believe your brother will say yes."

Dean glared at Castiel.

"You didn't see what I saw. Our future, the one where Sam most definitely says yes, is a nightmare, one that I sure as Hell ain't going to live in. If that means babysitting Sam's ass and making sure he doesn't say yes, then that's what I'm going to do."

Cas shot him an unsavory glance, one that was a terrible mixture of his habitual deadpan and an attempt to look frustrated. Not the angel's best work.

"Zachariah is no different than the demons you exorcise. Do you not know by now that they all lie? Zachariah will show you anything he believes will make the apocalypse happen sooner. I used to think that my brethren lied only for the greater good, and perhaps they still believe that, but I have found that, though there is no godliness behind their mission, they will stop at nothing to carry it out. There is no way to know that that is the true future. I have faith in your brother– I believe he will not say yes."

Dean couldn't reply to that. Cas hadn't seen what he had, experienced what he had. The pure terror that was in that future, the pain of seeing who he was and of seeing Sam being worn like a disposable glove by the devil himself.

"We need to find a way to stop the apocalypse, and we cannot do that while looking for your brother."

Dean looked at Castiel, body stiff with denial. Finding Sam wasn't just about making sure he didn't say yes. Being away from Sam always left Dean with a sense of fear that he couldn't reconcile with logic. However, that was something that he wouldn't consciously admit, not to himself, and definitely not to an angel. There was also the pain and anger of the past year with Sam eating away at him like acid. Nothing between the brothers had been right, not since that night Sam had guzzled liquid evil and Dean had poured out his soul in a phone message.

Sam had left and Dean was torn between wanting his brother back immediately and never wanting to see his face again. Cas's logic allowed him to believe in his brother without actually having to face him. So in the end, Dean had given a small terse nod and they'd stopped looking. One month had been spent looking, after Sam had failed to answer the call where Dean was supposed to ask him to come back.

A year and two months later, Dean was miserable. He'd been miserable since he'd agreed to Castiel's suggestion that they focus on finding a way to destroy Lucifer. Friggin' fourteen months and the best they'd found was an amulet that couldn't find God and the terrible idea of summoning Lucifer and attempting to trap him in a ring of holy fire. The time had worn on Dean; he could feel himself growing more and more numb as time after time they'd failed to find any feasible solution. Spend your days in the sole company of an angel that feels next to no emotion and has no understanding of the concept of softening harsh truths and you're bound to go a little nuts.

So a year and two months later, Dean was sitting in a bar doing the opposite of what he would've been doing a year and two months earlier. He was drinking conscientiously and avoiding looking at any women. Tonight, he was working. Castiel was God-knows-where looking for God–the irony of which was not lost upon Dean–while Dean was alternately working cases and reaching out to hunters who focused on research, like Bobby.

Tonight he was hunting an alpa, a cousin to the tokolosh and not unlike the incubus in the manner in which it incapacitated its victims. The creature assumed a human form, luring young people in for a night of "fun" before leaving them hanging. It then followed them home and fed on them while they slept, causing paralysis and, eventually, death in its victims, after feeding on them over the course of the next few days. The alpa had taken the form of a lovely young woman who was currently seducing another equally lovely young woman. The creature always preyed on the easiest victim, which several days ago had been a young man that had later been found dead.

So Dean was sitting here, watching and waiting for the alpa to make its mark. It always kissed the person it planned on killing, then fled the scene like a regular homicidal Cinderella. Dean watched as it pecked its victim on the cheek chastely before running from the room. Dean waited a moment before throwing down some cash and following. In order to kill an alpa, you needed to stab it in the heart with a bronze knife. Dean could do that.

Outside it was dark, and the single, flickering, street lamp didn't help in increasing the street's visibility. The thing had disappeared. Dean walked briskly past the building, peering down the alleyway beside it. He couldn't see very far past its entrance, so he cautiously entered the dim, narrow space, bronze knife in hand. Looking around, he found nothing except the usual trash and unidentifiable stains that characterized most alleyways. He continued his examination until he reached the next street over. Nothing. Turning to head back, Dean felt something plow into him, knocking him to the ground. The knife went flying, and Dean knew it would take a miracle toreach it again.

A tiny and ridiculously powerful fist flew into his face, making him see stars. He swore that monsters turned into five-foot-tall women just so his ego could be bruised alongside his body. Nothing said manly like getting your ass kicked by a tiny woman. Dean threw a punch to defend himself, but it seemed to have no effect, since the alpa just punched him in the face again. Head spinning, he felt himself get lifted and thrown into the air before making contact with the hard wall of the alleyway. As he blinked dark spots from his vision, Dean heard yelling and scuffling followed by the piercing scream of the alpa. When his vision cleared, Dean saw several people from where he still laid on the ground.

A hand was grasping his shoulder and a voice was asking if he was alright. Shaking his head clear, Dean looked up to see a man with shockingly orange hair and a beard squatting in front of him.

"How ya doing? Did she manage to get you?" It wasn't a particularly worried or interested inquiry, something more like an obligatory question.

Dean gave his head one last shake before looking up at the others who were now standing close behind the red-head. There was a woman and two other men.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm alright."

The carrot-top nodded and stood back up, offering a hand to Dean. Taking it, Dean was lifted to his feet. Another two men were taking the alpa's body and wrapping it up in a plastic sheet.

"I'm Andrew." The red-head didn't extend a hand. He followed Dean's gaze to where the men were now throwing the body into the back of a beige van.

Smirking, the man looked back at Dean. "We prefer to deal with these things right away."

"You're hunters."

Andrew nodded.

"A hunting group," he explained.

Dean raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Unusual, yes, and not something we would usually choose. But a war is here. The apocalypse has begun and, as hunters, we can't afford not to work together."

Dean was still watching them warily. He'd had an unfortunate run in with hunters who had heard about Sam's and his involvement in the events surrounding the beginning of the apocalypse. There had also been multiple suspicions regarding his visit downstairs. He could count on one hand how many hunters knew that angels existed and on the same hand count how many would actually believe him if he said they were real.

"That's great, get all nice and cozy with each other."

He heard a scoff from one of the men standing behind Andrew.

"The thing is, we're looking for other hunters to join us." Andrew replied, unfazed by Dean's rude behavior.

"Uh-huh," Dean said, dusting off his pants and jacket.

"We could use your help. You're obviously quite good. We were in town a week and hadn't found the alpa, or even known what it was. You were here three days and already had it pinned. We could use someone like you."

"Well good luck finding someone, then." Dean started to walk off. Andrew made to go after him but was stopped by one of his companions.

"Let the dumb ass go Andrew, we don't need someone who obviously can't fight." It was the same guy who had scoffed

Dean turned around sharply.

"Look, I thinks it's great that you're all working together, but I have my own shit to deal with, on top of which I don't know you. I don't know if you're really hunters or just a group of psychos. So thanks, but no thanks."

He made to leave again but stopped as Andrew began speaking again.

"Stop, alright. A war is here, and we need to work together. Besides, we have something, something that could make a difference, make it so we could win this fight."

"Andrew–" This time it was the woman talking, her tone admonishing.

But Dean was listening now.

"We have a weapon, a thing which can do–it can do stuff. It can help us."

"What is this weapon?"

Andrew grinned. "Look, you come with us, see what we can do when we work together, how much more we can accomplish than we can by ourselves. We'll show you, and then you can decide if you want to stay."

Dean hesitated. He didn't know who these people were, but it had been over a year and he still hadn't found something that could destroy Lucifer or trap him. If these hunters had something that could help, then why not?

He nodded and Andrew smiled.

"I'm Andrew. And you are. . .?"

Andrew extended a hand which Dean took.

"Billy Ethridge."

Dean was then introduced to the rest of their "team". Ellie was 5'10, a woman in her forties that had a sharpness to her that was terrifying. Then there was Donald, Art, Jason and Hub. All hunters, and that was about all they would say. Andrew appeared to be the leader, or at least the spokesperson. He'd volunteered himself and Donald to ride in the Impala with Dean so they could follow the van. While they drove through the town, making their way from the shady part of town to the even worse, abandoned, crap part of town, Andrew talked to Dean, asking questions which Dean gave vague answers to, but he eventually got the hint and shut up.

Finally, the van pulled up in front of an abandoned warehouse. Getting out, Dean followed Andrew into the building while Hub, Donald and Art took the body somewhere to the side of the building, presumably to get rid of it in typical hunter fashion.

The warehouse had a few working lights, but for the most part it was dark and empty, and its high ceiling and lack of contents made for an unwelcoming atmosphere.

Andrew turned to Dean and grinned.

"Home sweet home, Billy."

A small table and sleeping bags were set up with some cots under one of the working lights in the middle of the warehouse. To conserve salt, they'd made a large circle around the table and sleeping items, one which gave room for movement and additional things to be set up.

"It's just temporary for now. We came into town for a demon sighting which ended up, as you well know, turning out to be an alpa. Hub and Art do most of the research for us so they'll be figuring out where we head next."

Dean followed Andrew to the table which six chairs sat around. Sitting down, he was joined by Hub and Ellie while Jason went into the office room that was closed up, a devil's trap drawn outside its door. Dean watched as he entered and another guy walked out. He was too far away and the exchange too fast for him to see what was in the room.

Andrew pulled some bottles of beer from a cooler sitting next to the table and passed them out to those sitting down.

"So Ellie will show you the thing, and then you can decide what you want to do. It likes Ellie best so she deals with it most of the time."

"You mean she's the only one who can get it to eat the damn stuff."

The man who had switched with Jason had come over and was now seating himself at the table. Andrew sent him a withering smile.

"What do you mean 'it'? This is a living creature? I thought it was some kind of weapon." Dean was starting to feel unease welling up inside him.

"It's a monster." Hub said. His tone was dark and made Dean feel even more uncomfortable with the situation. The man who had yet to introduce himself let out a chuckle.

"Amazing monster too, I've never seen anything like it. Has phenomenal regenerative abilities, doesn't have any weaknesses except those of most humans, and it can't be killed. I've tried figuring out how it does it, but so far my research hasn't led to anything conclusive."

"Jonathan here is our monster expert. Loves the damn things and would probably spend all his time looking at them and drawing them instead of actually hunting them."

"I'm a scientist Andrew, you know the only reason I'm here is to further my knowledge. Finding out monsters were real opened up an entire new field in biology–"

The man appeared to be starting in on a long rant, but he was cut off by Andrew before he could continue.

"Yeah, yeah. We know Johnny."

Jonathan quieted and a dangerous look came on his face, but he didn't say anything else. Dean, meanwhile, was feeling more and more worried about what this monster was and exactly who these people were.

"Anyway Billy, we've probably gotten your curiosity going wild. Ellie can show you it and then when Donald and Art come back in we can settle down for dinner and discuss everything."

He smiled, but Dean found it more disturbing than reassuring. There was something not quite right about these people. Ellie had been quiet the entire conversation and Dean had noticed that when the "monster" was brought up she'd gotten uncomfortable. Dean just nodded and smiled back. Ellie stood and started walking towards the office room, and Dean trailed behind her.

Pulling out a set of keys, she unlocked the door and stepped into the room. Dean followed her in, eyes drinking in the sight of another devil's trap, along with a bowl of water and two bowls of what appeared to be some sort of mash, in the center of the room. His gaze then zeroed in on the corner of the room, where a large bundle that Dean recognized as humanoid, was sitting. Ellie switched the light on and Dean peered intently at the person. It was male and whoever it was was thin, making him appear like a scarecrow that had been bunched up. His head was tucked into his arms and his knees were drawn up. A ratty blanket covered him. Something about the person was oddly familiar and had Dean looking more closely at the roughly cut hair that looked as if it hadn't been washed in a long time.

"This is it."

Dean looked over at Ellie as she said it. His eyes then followed her hand which gestured at the person. Its head rose up to reveal a gaunt face and wide hazel eyes. Dean felt his own eyes widen as he realized who "it" was. The breath rushed from his body and his knees became weak. That thing in the corner, the monster, was Sam.

* * *

Does anyone else think that Sam should never wear a white suit again? Just for the sake of sparing me from putting bleach in my eyes. He looked awful in it. The fashion gods would be displeased. Also, I love Cas, so in no way will he be bashed. I don't like character bashing.


	2. Chapter 2

Te Deum: Chapter 2

* * *

Dean threw a hand out to the wall to keep himself upright as he reeled in shock. That was Sam in the corner. The hazel eyes that had glanced at Ellie originally now fixed on Dean, bright and round and terrifyingly broken. And what happened next nearly made Dean run from the room.

"Dean." It was hoarse and quiet but Dean still heard it and, apparently, so did Ellie. However, when she turned to look at Dean she didn't look freaked out or angry or even suspicious. Instead she looked sympathetic and understanding.

"I know it's hard to see. That's how I felt the first time I saw him. He looks so human, I thought they were the monsters at first."

Dean could barely process her words; his attention was still locked onto Sam who was still staring back at him. Ellie crouched down and started prodding at Sam, pulling the blanket away to reveal a stained t-shirt and a plethora of bruises and strange cuts. Sam flinched away when she started to wipe at them with a cloth, and Dean had to restrain himself from barreling to Sam's side.

"It wasn't until I saw what he could do that I knew he wasn't human. He kills demons, drinks their blood. I'm guessing he's some sort of predator for demons, one which was humanized somehow, because half the time he refuses to drink it. The guys beat him when he refuses, but I'm just nice to him. It's why he'll take it from me."

Dean wanted to throw up, he wanted to stop existing, because this was too much. Ellie pressed against one of the deeper cuts, drawing a small gasp out of Sam and then

"Dean" it's soft, and this time Sam didn't look at him, instead staring with glazed eyes at the floor. It wasn't something he had said to get Dean's attention so much as it was an instinctive response to his pain.

"He says that all the time. I don't know who 'Dean' is but it's about the only thing he ever says. I've been with them four months now. Sam doesn't talk– only time he does is around me and the only thing he says is 'Dean' and 'no'."

"How long?" Dean barely managed to croak it out and the way it sounds is barely intelligible. Ellie looked over at him. Dean cleared his throat.

"How long?" This time it's louder and without cracks.

"When I got here they said that they'd had him a little over a year. So probably fourteen, fifteen months now."

Dean blanched.

"He looks pretty damn good considering the pictures I've seen of when they first got him."

"Pictures?" Dean breathed out.

Ellie nodded her head and placed the blanket back over Sam, who tucked back into himself, the top of his head and those piercing eyes just visible and still trained on Dean.

"Most of them do what they do to him without any thought or pattern. It's just letting out pent up frustration and for some of them they genuinely find pleasure in it. Jonathan, however, documents everything. He doesn't do anything twice and what he hasn't done, I don't know. Somehow he keeps coming up with different things to test on it. Apparently it can't die, so they tried different ways of killing it first. Stopped after six months, once it started drinking the blood. Andrew said it had refused before that. Now they just hurt it to let off steam and keep it from 'retaliating'."

Ellie said this all with a vague air of disgust. She, apparently, didn't approve of torture– even that of a monster.

"He's never hurt anybody. Jonathan's notes attest to that, too. You don't need to be afraid of him."

Ellie said after Dean took a step back. She mistook his movement for fear, rather than the shock and pain that it was.

Ellie got up and brushed her hands off before stepping to the middle of the room, where she picked up the bowls and brought them to Sam. Dean watched her try to get Sam to eat or drink from them but Sam stayed curled up in his corner, eyes never straying from Dean. Frowning, Ellie placed the bowls back in the middle and stood back up.

"Well, he usually eats. Must be one of those nights." Ellie paused, looking at Dean thoughtfully.

"Or you, not that you're doing anything wrong. But he probably thinks that you're going to beat him like the rest of the guys do. Well, except Hub. Doesn't say why, he just doesn't."

Dean nodded at that and followed Ellie out of the room, Sam's eyes boring holes in his back. Dean nearly let out a sigh of relief when the door clicked shut behind them. He followed Ellie back to the table, glad to see that only Hub and Jonathan were still sitting. Jonathan had a spread of papers in front of him that Dean feared were something to do with Sam. Hub was watching him and Dean felt an unpleasant tingle crawl up his spine. This whole situation was screwed nine ways to Hell. Sinking into one of the chairs, Dean let out a huge breath of air that he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. Jonathan looked up, a pleasant smile on his face.

"It can have that effect. Difficult to see how it's not human at first. It'll get easier when you see the way it can rip the life out of a demon in a second."

Dean just nodded and grabbed the beer sitting on the table. God was this wrong. Everything in his mind was spinning, and emotions he had forgotten he had had grown into a raging storm inside him. Regret, guilt, fear, and a mounting anger and frustration that was bound to blow up in some spectacular way. For the moment, though, he tried to ignore it all because the only thing that mattered was getting Sam out. Unfortunately, that didn't involve going gun crazy on these monsters that had hurt his brother. Too many, and from what he had seen of all of them, they were all well trained and experienced hunters. Taking on one would have been an issue, six was way beyond Dean's abilities. So plan B was going to have to involve some subterfuge, especially if he couldn't get a hold of Cas.

Cas would be useful right about now, but the angel had left him several days ago with the strict order not to contact him. He'd said that some angels were seeking him out and that, at this point, Dean was better hidden from them than he was. So they'd split up. Dean hadn't heard from the angel since then. He'd call but Dean had a feeling Cas wasn't going to be able to help in this situation. So that called for a plan C: sticking with these hunters until he got the opportunity to get the hell out of Dodge with Sam in tow and both of them in one piece.

A hand fell on Dean's shoulder, making him jump.

"I take it you got a good look at the weapon?" It's Andrew, his tone cheerful in a way that makes Dean want to rip the man's vocal cords out and strangle him with them.

"Yeah." Dean nodded, a tight smile on his face.

"He doesn't look like much though. When you said it could do stuff I was expecting something more."

Andrew just smiled. "Don't worry, I thought of that already. You can mosey back to your nice motel and come back out in the morning. By then Art and Hub will have found us a demon and then we'll be able to show you what it can really do."

Andrew slid into the seat next to Dean, excitement on his face.

"You're not gonna believe it 'til you see it. But once you do, boy, there ain't no going back. This thing can change the war– we've already taken out over a hundred demons. With more hunters working with us, those numbers will just keep on going up."

Dean stood and cast a quick glance at the group in front of him, his eyes pausing on Hub, who was still watching him. With a curt nod to the table he walked back outside, Andrew escorting him.

"You know, Billy, I'm real glad we ran into you. I think you could really help us out."

Dean turned back to face Andrew once he'd reached the car, a smile on his face.

"Well, I want to deal with this damn apocalypse just as much as you do. Seems like you have the key to that right here."

Andrew nodded, smiling again with that infuriating perkiness that made Dean sick. Getting into the Impala, he let out a long sigh and drove back to the motel to start planning and to try to get a hold of Cas.

* * *

Sam stared at the door long after the hallucination of Dean had gone. Something was different about this hallucination. Usually when Lucifer sent him hallucinations of his brother, it was either to hurt him with words or to try to coax him into saying yes. This Dean hadn't done either of those things. This was a little blip in the seemingly never-ending Hell that Sam now lived in, so he was entranced by this Dean, this perfectly normal and very different Dean.

It was nice to have a break, even strange as it had been. Usually, the days melded together between Lucifer's mental torture while he slept and the interactions with the hunters who had taken him. The most he could register was his perpetual mindset of refusal and the pain from the beatings and withdrawals he was made to endure. Ellie was the only one who was kind to him, and he appreciated her, but what she had done did little to outweigh the cruelty of the other hunters. Most all of them were angry and terrifying, but the one who scared him most was Jonathan. The man acted without emotion– there was nothing but pure scientific precision in everything he did.

That man had been the worst of all of them. He'd been the most creative in inventing ways to kill Sam, before they'd stopped killing him. After that Sam had been subjected to tests of different materials: oak, brass, silver,and others that blurred together until he had lost count. Then different forms of the materials had been tested. Would a brass knife affect him or a brass bullet? Now they were onto different methods of injuring him. This past week and a half, Jonathan had been testing out different ways he could hurt Sam with electricity.

Sam shivered and curled into himself as much as he possibly could. Sam didn't like Jonathan, but the man had nothing on what Lucifer could do to his mind. Remembering the strange occurrence of earlier that day, Sam's thoughts drifted back to Dean. What he'd seen today had looked more real than anything he'd seen before, and it had happened while he was awake, which was something Lucifer had never done before. It had been so different that Sam could actually pretend that it really had been Dean, there in the flesh to rescue him and take him back, to say that they were stronger together and that he couldn't live without his baby brother. To say that Sam was once again the most important person to him. It was a silly little fantasy, one that Sam knew wouldn't happen. But it helped on those bad days, the days when the withdrawal from the demon blood was unbearable and the hunters decided that Sam needed their special attention.

During those days Sam would pretend that Dean had burst into the room, gun in hand, and taken them all out somehow. Then Dean would rush over to Sam and tell him that everything was going to be alright. After that, Sam would be perfectly healthy and they'd go back to hunting the way they always had. Dean being his same old joking self and Sam getting to bitch at him about music and food. Everything would be perfect and it would all work out as it should.

Sam saved this fantasy for the bad days, because he'd pass out in the middle of it. On good days it just left him feeling more empty and alone than he'd been feeling before. So Sam thought about the strange occurrence and let himself fall asleep thinking about what it could be and why Lucifer would show it to him now.

* * *

Dean got back to the motel and immediately pulled out his phone. He hadn't trusted himself on the road with a phone in his hand–he'd barely been able to keep his shaking hands on the steering wheel. Pressing 1 for speed dial, Dean locked his car and staggered into the motel room.

"Come on, Cas, pick up, pick up, pick–" the ringing turned into a woman's voice declaring that he could leave a voice mail after the tone. Dean swore under his breath.

"Damn it, Cas, I need you! When you get this, call me right away. I need help now."

Throwing the device onto the bed, Dean let out a strangled breath that bordered on a silent scream. Why had he listened to Cas all those months ago? Why had he just stopped looking? Why had he assumed that Sam was being a class A bitch and was hiding from them? Now Sam was being held captive by a bunch of hunters who had been torturing him for the last year or so and using him as their bitch to kill demons.

Sinking onto the bed, Dean felt his eyes water. What had Sam thought, after all those months? Dean hadn't been happy after what had happened before the convent and he had let Sam know just how much he believed his brother had screwed up. Dean had let Sam know exactly how much he didn't forgive him. How must Sam feel when Dean's last words had been to tell him to pick a hemisphere, to stay away permanently?

Dean pushed away his frustration with himself and stared numbly at the wall. All of that didn't matter right now. What mattered was getting Sam out, which was going to take a plan. Dean needed to anticipate what he would need to do. The weak link appeared to be Ellie–she at least had pity for Sam. However, Dean hadn't even met all of the hunters properly. Tomorrow he was going to go back and try to make friends, because it looked like the only way Sam was getting out was through Dean sweet-talking him out.

* * *

The following morning Dean had arrived back at the warehouse by 9:00 AM. Andrew met him at the door, his broad grin already in place. Upon entering, Dean took in the changed scene. To the right of the salt circle a figure was tied to a chair, a devil's trap encircling it. Dean thought it was Sam at first but upon closer inspection realized it was just some man in a business suit. Dean followed Andrew until they were just outside the red circle. The man's eyes found Dean's and Dean had to withhold a flinch when he saw the black eyes boring into him. The loud sound of a door slamming shut drew Dean's eyes to the office. Sam was being dragged out by Donald and Jason, he hung limply in their arms and Dean feared for a moment that his brother was dead.

They threw Sam to the ground a couple of yards from the devil's trap, where he collapsed, then laid motionless. Dean felt his entire body tense and his jaw tighten with the strain of keeping himself from running to Sam's side and making sure his brother was alright.

"Ellie" Andrew said, a slight drawl entering his voice along with an undercurrent of something cold and merciless. Ellie didn't look at Andrew, but she nodded and stepped forward, a bottle of red liquid in her hand. Sinking to her knees in front of Sam, she began to coo sweet nothings to him, asking him to drink. Drawing Sam up, she pressed the bottle into his hand but he flinched away, hands wrapping around himself while he whispered the word "no" over and over again. Ellie reached out a hand and gently stroked his head.

"Sam, I need you to take it," Ellie said, gently but firmly.

"No. . ." Sam keened, eyes shutting tightly as he began to rock himself back and forth. "No."

Ellie bit her lip and glanced nervously at Andrew who was watching with an indifferent stare.

Ellie turned back to Sam and smiled again, hands coming up to press the bottle into his hand and gently pet his hair.

"What about Dean, huh? He needs you to take this."

Sam moaned out "no," but it was softer this time and held less resolve. Dean wants to throw up, the whole scene is so wrong that only the thought of Sam's safety keeps him from going kamikaze with his hand gun.

"Come on Sam, for Dean."

Sam doesn't nod his head or say yes. He gives no sign of his compliance except to grip the bottle back. Ellie helped unscrew the cap and guide the bottle to Sam's mouth, where he swallowed down the liquid. Sam drank it all, and when the bottle left his lips he let out a little sob.

"Thank you Ellie." Andrew's voice was unnervingly chilled. Ellie didn't respond, just took the bottle and left the warehouse. Andrew was smiling again as he walked over to Dean.

"Here's the good part."

Andrew then approached Sam, a hand snaking out to yank his head back. Terrified hazel eyes stared up at Andrew.

"You see that demon over there." Andrew pointed to the man tied within the devil's trap. Sam didn't answer verbally. He merely glanced quickly over at the man before his eyes settled back on Andrew, pools of fear in his gaunt face.

"You need to kill it."

Andrew let go of Sam's head roughly and stood back up. Sam remained where he was on the ground. Moments passed and nothing happened. Finally, though, Sam lifted himself into an awkward sitting position, his right leg bent into an almost unnatural position. He stretched out a hand, fingers straining forward. The demon let out an agonized cry and an inky black cloud exited the body and began swirling every which way in the circle. Sam tightened his hands, his fingers forming a fist. The screams intensified before stopping abruptly when the cloud disappeared in a brilliant crackle of energy. Sam collapsed back to the ground.

Glancing at Andrew, Dean was surprised to see anger instead of the smugness he was expecting to find.

"Donald." Andrew bit out. Dean watched with increasing worry as Donald went over to Sam and yanked him towards the chair. Jason untied the man and dragged him to the edge of the circle and Donald dragged Sam into it. Sam was shaking, wide-eyed and pale-faced. Dean didn't need someone to tell him that something bad was about to happen. Sam didn't fight or struggle against Donald as he was tied to the chair.

"You didn't do it right. To make sure the demon is dead, the man has to die with him."

Sam looked at Andrew, his face growing even paler. Then he saw Dean, and something flickered in his eyes. His eyes didn't stray from Dean's form even after Donald began hitting him. After administering several blows, Donald stopped and Andrew began talking again.

"You think you can save them, but once a person has been possessed they don't come back."

Andrew walked over to the man who was unconscious but clearly alive, pulling a knife out as he did and holding it to the man's throat.

"You still didn't save him, so now you're just going to get hurt for no reason."

Before Dean could cry out to stop him, Andrew had slashed the throat of the man, letting the body drop to the floor before walking towards Sam.

"You need to learn your lesson, monster."

Andrew stared at Sam a few more seconds before he turned to Dean.

"We'll take him back to his room. You get to teach him tonight."

Donald began to manhandle Sam from his chair, but Andrew held up a hand.

"Let him walk."

Donald immediately stepped back letting Sam take all of his own weight. Sam's right leg was crooked, as if someone had broken it and let it heal without setting it correctly. As Sam began to stumble across the floor back to the office and his prison, Dean realized in horror that that was exactly what had happened. A hand appeared at Dean's shoulder and began guiding him toward the office after Sam. Dean was frozen, unable to do anything but allow himself to be led by Andrew, who was following Sam's painfully slow progress through the warehouse. Finally, Sam made it inside, where Dean watched him collapse back into his corner of the room.

Andrew pushed Dean in.

"It helps to think of all the monsters you've met, the ones who've tricked you, pretended to be good just to end up hurting more people in the end. It may look human Billy, but in the end it's a monster just like the rest of them."

Andrew shut the door and for the first time in over a year Dean was alone with Sam. After throwing a glance back at the door, Dean was by Sam's side in seconds, hands roaming over his broken body.

"Sammy?"

Sam flinched back at the nickname and eyed Dean with suspicion. Dean gripped Sam's hand but Sam pulled away, fear growing in its place.

"Come on Sammy, it's me."

There was no response. With a quick look back at the closed door, Dean leaned in and gently grabbed Sam's chin. Sam flinched again but didn't pull away. Sam was staring hard away from Dean.

"You know me Sam, I'm your stupid big brother." Dean smiled weakly, but Sam still wasn't looking at him. Dean cursed inwardly– he didn't have much time.

"Sam, it's me, Dean. I swear to God I'm going to get you out of here as soon as I can. I'll buy you all your stupid salads without complaining, you can have all the first showers, God, Sam, you can even play your emo crap in the Impala—just look at me."

A hand touched Dean's chest where the amulet Sam had given him hung. Glancing down at it and then back at Sam, Dean waited with bated breath as Sam's fingers brushed softly over the piece of jewelry. The hand then traveled up to Dean's face, his gaze rising to meet it. Sam's hand rested on Dean's cheek while his eyes searched Dean's, looking for what Dean guessed was proof that it really was him. The other hand came up, Sam's left one, this one mangled, broken, and scarred. He rested this hand on Dean's other cheek, cradling Dean's face.

"Dean?" the tone held a combination of recognition and hope that made Dean tear up.

"Yeah, Sammy, it's me, it's really me."

Dean leaned forward, hugging Sam while his brother sank into him, sobs building up and breaking through to manifest in jerking breaths and steaming tears. Dean felt himself crying as well. They may have been trapped in a warehouse with psycho hunters and Sam may have been broken, but they were together for the first time in over a year. Despite how screwed they were, Dean couldn't help but feel like it was the first time in a long time that he'd felt whole. He and Sam were together, the way they were always meant to be, and Dean would do his best to make sure that they stayed that way.

* * *

I just looked over the chapter and realized I left my beta's marks and stuff in the chapter. Sorry! I fixed it now.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Dean held Sam for several minutes, Sam crying on his shoulder with a hand fisted in Dean's jacket and the other trying to do the same. Dean just knelt there holding him because Dean needed it just as much as Sam. Finally though, he pulled back, because they were still in a warehouse with six people who had been torturing Sam for the last year.

"Sammy, I need you to listen to me." Dean was holding Sam's face now, pulling the chin up so teary eyes would look into his. Sam nodded his head earnestly, desperate and pure trust beaming in his eyes as he looked at Dean. It's mind blowing, Dean thinks, that Sam trusts him so much, that after a whole year of being abandoned by Dean, Sam still is willing to look at him with love and is willing to trust anything Dean says and does.

"I can't get you out right now. I wish I could but there are six hunters out there and as much of a bad ass as I am I don't think I'll be able to get us out. So you're going to have to wait, I'm going to pretend to join them. I might have to hurt you, but I'm going to get you out of here, I promise."

Sam just nodded his head again, not once flickering in his steadfast faith in Dean.

"I'm going to leave now, but I'll be back. Just play along with this, ok?"

Sam nodded again and Dean smiled in response.

"We're going to play these idiots, 'kay, just like old times."

Dean leaned in, gripping his brother for one last hug. Reluctantly he let go and got up. Taking a deep breath, Dean steeled himself for going out and facing the people sitting outside. He schooled his face into one of anger and coldness. He then walked out. Andrew, Donald, Jason and Ellie were seated at the table. Art was sleeping on one of the cots and Hub and Jonathan were no where to be seen. Andrew looked up as Dean started walking over to the table.

"Well Billy, now that you've seen it you decide what happens next."

Dean seated himself opposite Andrew, a cold half-smile on his face.

"I'm all in."

Andrew nodded approvingly "Welcome to the group, Billy. Now that you're staying guess you need to know more about what we're doing and how we do it. But first, Ellie'll show you what she does to take care of it and talk to you about how we hunt with it."

Ellie stood up and motioned for Dean to follow her. They headed back towards the room where Sam was at. Ellie stopped before going in and went to a bag lining the wall, she pulled out some bandages and a few other items.

"Have to make sure he's well enough to be able to come with us when we do track demons down."

They walked back into the room where Sam was rocking himself back and forth, curled into a ball letting out small cries.

"After he takes the blood this happens, I'm not sure if it's hunger pangs or what. They seem to be like withdrawals though, Jonathan said he did tests with the demon blood in the beginning, figured out the right amount of blood to give him without worrying about violent side effects and making sure he has enough to take down the demons."

Kneeling Ellie kept talking.

"I hope you didn't do a number on him, makes moving him harder. No doubt Andrew will want to be out of here by tomorrow, possibly even by this evening."

Pulling the blanket away from the oblivious Sam, Ellie frowned. Dean felt his heart rate sky-rocket. He hadn't anticipated this, it was quite clear to see that Dean hadn't touched Sam. Ellie looked over her shoulder at Dean but didn't say anything. She just tucked the blanket back around Sam and stood back up.

Dean was pale, he'd already screwed their plan up. Ellie didn't say anything for several moments before she looked at Dean again, she seemed to take in his troubled look and her face was sympathetic.

"It's alright, if you didn't hurt him. I won't tell Andrew, but it's not like you have to. Hub doesn't, neither do I. They think we're weak for it but I don't care."

Dean didn't reply, he was too shocked by the luck of how the situation was turning.

"I started hunting back when I was nineteen, a werewolf killed my brother and father. My mother and I moved away trying to forget it all. The thing tracked us down and killed her. I got away because of another hunter. I thought for a long time that all the monsters I met were evil until I met a werewolf that locked itself up, made sure it couldn't hurt people. There are ghosts that protect people and warn them, creatures out there that turn away from their baser instincts. Not all monsters are monsters."

Ellie said this while looking at Sam's delirious form. The withdrawal from the demon blood that Dean was so familiar with left Sam sweating, his eyes wide and glazed over obviously somewhere else. Dean realized that the signs had been there when he'd been with Sam earlier, just a few minutes ago, he just hadn't recognized them. When Ellie had finished speaking she looked over at Dean, gauging his response to what she'd said. He didn't say anything though, keeping his gaze on Sam. Sam started mumbling 'no' under his breath, it became a litany that was only broken by Sam's keening cries.

They left the room and headed back to the table where all five of the other hunters now sat. Gathering around the table they all looked expectantly at Art and Hub.

"We found a hunt, demon sightings in Durham, North Carolina. From what we've gathered it looks to be more than one. We're thirteen hours away from there."

Andrew nodded happily at the two men.

"We'll head out today."

The group split at Andrew's command and they set about breaking the salt line, scraping away the devil's trap, packing the sleeping supplies. The body of the business man was gone, Dean assumed that they'd taken care of it similar to how they'd taken care of the Alpa's body. Donald was currently mopping up the blood that had spilled on the ground from the slit throat.

Dean stood uselessly until Andrew came up to him.

"You probably still have stuff at your motel. You should head back there to clear it out and then meet us here at 4:00pm. We'll deal with everything for now."

Dean then left, packing his stuff and anticipating how this next hunt would help him get Sam out.

Dean tried calling Cas before he headed back. There was no answer and Dean was left with the feeling he got when his father had never taken his calls, a hopeless frustration.

Loading the last of the stuff in the impala's back Dean felt scared. He was facing a nearly impossible situation, one where he didn't have his little brother as back up but rather as the mission and a liability. A year and three months and for once Dean was actually feeling emotion. A terrible fear for his brother and how to save him and a guilt that was hacking away at him. He should've never left Sam alone, let him face this all by himself. Those last words condemning his little brother. And yet Sam hadn't looked angry or betrayed rather he appeared to see Dean as some kind of savior, like the big brother who had never let his little brother down.

Shutting the back Dean rubbed his face tiredly. This felt like too much, with an apocalypse to stop and heaven and hell after him it seemed surreal to also have to be dealing with hunters. First thing first, get Sammy out.

Arriving back at the warehouse Dean noted that everyone was outside seemingly waiting for him to show up. A quick glance at the time revealed it to be 3:49. He was early, well relatively so. Getting out Dean also saw that one person was missing, Ellie. Walking over to where Andrew was standing he appraised the two other cars. A white Chevy cargo van, a '64 Pontiac GTO which could run a fine hand against his baby, and a modest 2006 Honda odyssey. Classic cars seemed to be something that hunters had an affinity for, at least some hunters did, Dean thought with an unpleasant look at the Honda. Andrew caught the look and laughed.

"We have to have something to transport a lot of people. On top of that, that type of car doesn't get bothered much. During the day it looks like a family van and at night it looks like a teenager took their parents car out."

Dean just nodded, no amount of logic could make him condone driving around in a mini van. Ellie stepped out of the warehouse a plastic bag in hand. Wordlessly Jason stepped over with her to the white van. Pulling open the back doors Ellie climbed in next to Sam. Dean stepped closer to see his brother passed out in the back, mouth slack and hands shackled with warded cuffs. Obviously he had been drugged up with something. The something became more apparent as Ellie took out a syringe from her plastic bag and pulled Sam's arm toward her.

"Ellie and Donald take the white van. Hub and Art own the Pontiac. Me, Jonathan and Jason take the Honda. I guess you'll be taking yours by yourself. Usually we all head out together but from there we split up. Hub and Art go ahead and set everything up for us while the rest of us stick together in case something happens. You can do as you'd like, just meet us at the address by tomorrow night."

With that everyone started piling into their different cars. Dean forced himself to go to his baby while the white van doors slammed shut taking away his ability to see Sam.

The trip was uneventful. Dean stayed close to the white van and cursed his gas guzzling car as he found himself having to check in more often than the other more economic cars. Baby came at a price, one which Dean willingly paid but found problematic in instances such as this. However they arrived around 2 at an empty two story house on the outskirts of Durham. True to what Andrew had said, Hub and Art were already there and had already set up the basic protections. The next hour Sam was left in the van with Ellie while everyone else set up his room in one of the upper story rooms and set up their small home.

Finally though the majority of them took an unconscious Sam up into the room and removed the shackles on him. Dean watched them place his malnourished and drugged up brother on a blanket in a corner of the room. After that they all headed downstairs where a sort of dinner was being heated up from cans.

"Nice car ya got." Dean looked up in surprise to see Art talking to him.

"Yeah, it's my pride and joy, my baby."

The man chuckled at Dean's reply "Well I got to say it nearly stands up to mine. Not good of a year as '64 though."

"That's what you think old man."

"Won't say that once I shoot your ass, kid."

Dean laughed back but it died on his lips as he remembered that this was one of the men who had beat his brother.

"Well, we're going to head out to where the demons are once the weapon is awake enough."

That determined, Dean volunteered himself to stay with 'the weapon' until it was awake enough.

Entering the room alone Dean shut the door behind him and went over to Sam. His brother was out like a light, the drugs still working in full effect. Kneeling next to his brother, Dean began assessing him. He needed to know what exactly the damage was. His brother hadn't moved and all he was wearing was a plain and quite dirty t-shirt that Dean assumed was once white. For pants he had on a pair of grey sweats equally dirty. He was wearing a pair of socks that were the only clean things he had on.

Inspecting the head Dean discovered a few new scars, Sam's hair was the same length however it was dirty, tangled and chopped funny. He reeked but Dean took no notice. The left arm revealed a spot where pinpricks indicated that being drugged was a common occurrence. When Sam did get out there were going to be a shit-ton of problems to deal with. Drug overuse being just one of them. His arms were thin from loss of muscle and lack of a sustaining diet. More scars could also be found and a plethora of bruises at different stages of healing.

His chest wasn't much better. However the worst was when he got to his legs. The left leg was at the same point as the rest of Sam but the right leg revealed how his brother's leg had been broken. Scar tissue decorated his thigh and the strange twist of the femur which made the lower part of his leg a different direction was visible. Dean held back wanting to vomit. No way were they making a quick getaway. Gently wrapping the blanket which lay to the side around Sam and making sure his brother was completely covered, Dean rocked back on his toes where he was crouched next to Sam, arms propped on his knees.

He couldn't fix this; even if he got his brother out, he couldn't fix this. A weary hand was brought up to brush through his hair while anxiety stirred in him. Letting out a sigh and pushing himself to his feet, Dean forced the anxiety back into him where he didn't have to deal with it. These were problems for when his brother was safely away from the psychos he was currently prisoner to. For now he was going to have to figure out a way to be with Sam alone while none of the other hunters were at the house, or at least until only one or two were.

Dean glanced around the room and saw a chair. However he decided against it, instead he lowered himself onto the ground next to Sam, gently lifting his brother's head so it sat in his lap. He spent the next twenty minutes carding his hand through Sam's hair while his ass got numb.

Meanwhile he spoke small nothings, talking about how Cas was and about how Baby had been.

Finally Sam began to stir, with little moans and twitches. At one point Sam's eyes twitched open so that he was staring up at Dean who still had a hand petting Sam's head. Sam jerked back with a louder than usual 'no'. Dean became worried as his brother curled up drawing away from him. Dean's first instinct was to comfort Sam, do something to alleviate his suffering. Despite that though, Dean didn't move to help him, instead he got up and walked towards the door.

It would be easier for these people to trust him if they came in to see Sam a blithering mess rather than having a semblance of calm.

Walking downstairs, Dean stepped into the front room where several of the hunters were. It was around five by now and they were seated around the table playing cards, while Jason and Donald were in a corner cleaning guns.

"He's awake and coherent." Dean announced as he walked over to the table.

"Good, we'll set out then." Andrew replied. The cards were then swept up to be replaced by a small arsenal; holy water, rosaries, small pamphlets with exorcisms in them. Andrew headed into another room where he woke up Art and Hub. He then headed upstairs with Ellie to fetch Sam. Dean watched as all the hunters armed themselves with the items on the table and their own personal guns and knives. Pausing a moment to watch, Dean realized he should probably be getting ready on his own.

Dean started to step out towards his car when Donald caught Dean by the shoulder. The man was a platinum blonde with short hair slicked back. He had piercing blue eyes as cold as ice. He leaned in towards Dean conspiratorially.

"This hunt ain't gonna be like anything you've ever experienced. We don't just hunt one demon at a time. This is a nest of nearly ten." The man stared cruelly at Dean, a mirthless smile breaking across his face.

Dean just shrugged the unwanted hand off and continued out to his car. These people were God damn psychos. Dean armed himself and headed back inside just in time to see Andrew dragging Sam down the steps of the house. Ellie was right behind him with a bottle of blood in her hand. Sam was brought out to the white van where he was once again thrown into the back, shackled and shaking like a leaf.

Ellie hopped in the back with Sam, Donald accompanying her. Up front the van had two seats which Andrew and Jason took. That left Dean riding with Jonathan, Hub, and Art in the minivan. Dean felt mortified by the situation, Dean Winchester riding in the back seat of a mini van.

The ride was uneventful. It took them a little under an hour to get where they were headed; a sex club. Dean would've been excited about the fact that the case was taking them to a place where sex was involved however all he could manage was a deep, uneasy feeling in his gut.

They pulled up a block away and sat tensely waiting. The other van had gone into the parking lot of the sex club. As Dean waited anxiously he couldn't help but think how a mini van didn't exactly fit in at a sex club, subtle my ass, he thought.

Ten and then twenty minutes passed when finally Hub's phone rang. There was a short silence as Hub listened to whatever was being said and then he hung up. Turning to look at Dean and Jonathan in the back seat Hub spoke

"It's time."

Jonathan merely nodded while Dean didn't respond. His heart beat was increasing and adrenaline was beginning to pump through him.

Everyone got out of the car and followed Hub, who was leading the way. They all paced down the sidewalk approaching the club. Stepping inside, the place was practically empty. A few people were lounging in front of the bar while loud music pumped through the room. They headed towards a back room where a group of people were sitting around a table playing poker. The group of people, seven total, looked up at the group of hunters as they entered. All seven eyes flashed black and the group of hunters uncapped their gallon containers of holy water.

Before anybody had moved the door across the room opened and Sam was pushed in by Andrew and followed by the rest. Sam was more aware than Dean had seen him. Obviously quite a bit of demon blood had been given to him.

The demons began to get up but Sam cast a hand out and all of them stopped moving. Sam's hand began to shift from a flat palm to a fist. The demons all began to either moan or shake as black smoke began to rise from their mouths. Sam himself began to tremble from the exertion, blood starting to trickle from his nose. His eyes had landed on the demons as soon as he'd entered the room but now they flitted up to see the hunters across the room. Sam saw Dean and his eyes widened. Dean saw that for the first time since Dean had come into this group Sam genuinely recognized his brother as actually, genuinely being there. He faltered, making a fatal mistake. His hold on the demons failed and that was when everything went to hell.

A demon immediately jumped at Sam, tackling him to the ground while the other demons pounced on the hunters. Sam's near killing of them had definitely weakened them so no powers were used, just raw animal like rage as they attacked. Jason went down first, throat ripped out by a demon who lunged forward with the mouth of it's vessel open. In a moment holy water was thrown on it by Andrew and it fell to the floor shrieking in pain. After that Dean lost track as a demon attacked him. He tried to throw the holy water on it but most of it missed and Dean was on the ground with a body on top of him, petite hands trying to claw at his face. Dean fought back, trying to hold back hands while he kicked the body off of him. Rolling away from the thing he jumped to his feet anticipating it's attack just to find that he didn't have to. It collapsed to the ground, dead.

The chaos had lasted a minute at most but it had felt like more than that. There was silence in the room aside from the labored breathing of the hunters and the pained cries of Donald who was on the floor cradling his stomach where his gut had been opened by a knife. Dean took stock of the room. Andrew was standing and Art was helping Hub up from the floor. Jason's body was laying near the door and Ellie was cradling her arm. Jonathan was covered in blood, none of it his own. Sam, Dean paled as he saw Sam. His brother was on the ground, blood pouring from where a knife had been sunk into his shoulder. His eyes were glazed over and he was sitting slumped against the wall, one of the demon bodies splayed over his legs.

Ellie by then had moved towards Donald, her hands cradling his face. He was as good as dead, Dean knew that as did the rest of the room. No one else moved to be with him. Andrew's face quickly covered the shock that had been there and leveled into anger. Dean felt a chill run up his spine. Things had gone bad here and he knew exactly who Andrew was going to blame.

They waited however, no one doing much other than checking themselves and their injuries. They were waiting. Several minutes passed and Ellie stood up from where she had been crouching next to Donald. He was gone. She didn't say anything just wiped her hands on her pants and stepped over to Sam who was still on the floor.

"We move out. Jonathan and Hub come with me, we'll move it."

Nothing else was said, Ellie jerking out the knife in Sam and quickly using fabric from one of the bodies began to apply pressure. Jonathan, Andrew and Hub started to move Sam when Art laid a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"We'll go ahead, fix it up for when they get there."

Dean followed Art out and back to the mini van. Climbing in Art started the car and pulled away from the curb.

"We'll burn the bodies tomorrow. Somewhere safe. Those boys'll get a proper burial."

Dean nodded, too exhausted from what had just happened to be able to give a reply.


	4. Chapter 4

Te Deum: Chapter 4

* * *

Arriving back at the house, Dean and Art got out some med supplies and laid them on the table. Art began working on making up a new batch of holy water and Dean found himself trying to come up with something to eat. Most of what they had was canned soups and the like. He got out a large pot and set it up on a portable burner. Art had given him the job. Dean was just dumping in the last can when Andrew and Jonathan walked through the door supporting Sam on either side. They took him upstairs with Ellie trailing behind. Minutes later Jonathan came back down.

"Bodies are already wrapped, they're in the back of the van. We'll take them out tomorrow. Art is doing some last rite stuff to help make sure we don't have to deal with any future problems."

Art nodded at Jonathan's words. Dean stirred the soup and then headed to fetch some bowls which were kept in a plastic bin. A scream from the upper room made him stop. It was Sam's scream, a sound that he would know anywhere. Trying not to act affected, he brought seven bowls and spoons to the counter where the burner had been set up. He began ladling soup into the bowls when another scream sounded out, followed by a few quieter ones.

"Having his way with him I suppose." Jonathan said conversationally.

Dean looked sharply over at him. Jonathan smiled at the alarmed look on his face.

"Oh, don't worry, he's not fucking the thing. Just making sure it knows it messed up. Pain is a very good lesson."

"Yeah" Dean replied, eyes glancing up at the ceiling when another tormented cry sounded out. This was pure torture. Dean kept his hands from shaking but finally after ten minutes he couldn't take it anymore. Grabbing his own bowl of food along with another he headed outside mumbling something about getting food to Hub. Outside the sounds lessened until they faded out. Dean cursed himself for his weakness, he'd never been able to stand the sound of Sam in pain.

Dean saw Hub by the van's backdoor, his back to Dean as he did something that probably had to do with the last rites Art had mentioned. Dean came up behind him and saw the bodies which were wrapped in white sheets per hunter tradition. A small bible was in Hub's hand and a rosary was dangling over the forms held by Hub's other hand.

Hub spared Dean a glance and a short pause in his latin chant before continuing on. Dean set the bowl on the bumper and slouched against the van to watch Hub. Several minutes passed before he finished. Hub picked up the bowl and without a thought to the dead bodies began eating.

"So you and Art are-?"

Dean let the question out casually. Hub and Art were both older men, both in their 50's but both still physically fit. Quite old for hunters, at their age to still be alive and to still be hunting was nearly unheard of.

"We're friends, best friends. Known each other since birth, both found out about the supernatural together and stuck together since then."

Dean nodded, eyes wandering to the bodies. Despite wanting to have killed the men himself, their deaths would make it that much easier to save Sam.

"And yourself? Information is pricey, gotta share tit for tat."

Dean looked up at Hub prepared to lie. Taking in the weathered and intelligent look on the man's face he decided against lying, or at least decided to tell as much of the truth as possible.

"Mom got killed by a demon, my dad took me and my brother hunting after that. Been doing it ever since."

"And your brother?"

Dean's jaw tightened as he thought back on all that had happened in the last two years.

"It got to him, he didn't make it. Lost him about a year ago."

It was a sort of truth, but it didn't matter because the emotion on Dean's face of grief, regret, guilt and pain was enough truth to make Hub believe him. Hub just looked down into his soup bowl.

"Ghouls, they got our wives and kids."

* * *

Andrew didn't leave the room for over an hour. After dinner and a healthy dealing out of whiskey everyone retired, each taking three hour turns watching over the monster. Dean spent his three hours watching his brother detox while inspecting the damage done, Sam completely oblivious to the world outside of his pain and whatever he was hallucinating, didn't notice Dean. Sam came out of his encounter with Andrew with a broken rib, three less finger nails, burns on his arms and a lot more bruising. Dean felt the usual feeling of sickness well up in him and stay with him for the rest of the night. By morning everyone was up and Art was dealing out oatmeal that had been made in the pot. Everyone took turns with food duty.

Everyone gathered in the living room where the table had been set and was either seated at it or standing somewhere else.

"We're gonna do the burial today. Someone will stay with it while we're away. I was going to ask Dean since he knew Donald and Jason the shortest amount of time."

Dean nodded his assent and made sure to not show the burst of hope and excitement he felt at hearing that he was going to be left alone with Sam. The sheer luck of it astounded him. No one else commented on it or raised objections so Andrew said nothing more.

Within a few hours, around 10am, they took off; Hub and Art in the Pontiac and the rest in the white van. Dean waited ten then twenty minutes before he broke out into action. Heading up the stairs he entered the room. Sam was shackled for extra protection and was delirious at this point. Dean fiddled with the cuffs, the key had been taken with them in the coat pocket of Art. Never too much to be safe. Dean spent the next twenty minutes picking the locks. They were old and archaic things, Dean was half tempted to just find a way to cut through them. Once the cuffs were off he looped Sam's arm around his shoulder and wrapped an arm around his waist.

Sam halfheartedly attempted to assist Dean in moving him. Dean guessed it was habit since at the times when Sam dragged too much or weighed down too much with the others he'd seen Andrew or another kick or hurt Sam to get him moving. They made slow progress from the room and down the stairs, Dean keeping up a steady flow of encouragement. Sam's eyes were glazed over and faraway, Dean doubted his brother was even aware of what was going on.

Dean nearly cried with relief when they made it to the ground floor. They made it several steps when Art stepped into the room. Dean felt his heart drop out of him, face paling. Art froze when he saw Dean with Sam wrapped around him, shackles gone. A moment passed and a gun was leveled at Dean by a steady and experienced hand.

"You know, I was half expecting this."

Dean frowned in confusion.

"I knew you were a Winchester boy moment I saw ya. I would recognize that car of yours anywhere. I've hunted with your father enough to know it when I see it."

Dean's confusion spread, the man had known who he was and done nothing to intervene.

"I knew he was your brother too, just thought you knew what he was as well as the rest of us. Hub never recognized ya, just me. I didn't tell anyone. I figured you were a hunter just like your father, I thought you would know better."

Dean shifted as Sam's weight started to fall against him more, Sam was running out of energy and soon he wouldn't be able to stand, let alone help Dean out of this mess.

"Guess I was wrong though, it has been twenty years since I last saw you and your family. I heard things of course, so you can imagine my surprise when I saw you turn up after I heard about Dean Winchester's plunge into the fiery pits. I figured you brother sold something that made him human to get you out."

Dean couldn't help to think how wrong yet right that was. Sam may not have gotten him out but he'd sold everything to demon blood and revenge in the aftermath.

"Doesn't matter though. What you're going to do now is step away from your brother and sit down in the kitchen chair, you'll keep your hands on your head or else I'll shoot your brother."

Dean nodded his understanding and took slow steps away from Sam and settled himself in a kitchen chair keeping both hands on top of his head.

Art slowly moved towards the table where some rope was that had been left over from wrapping the bodies. Moving towards Dean he tied him up. Dean felt a sense of hopelessness sink in as Art stepped away from him.

"Now that wasn't so-"

He was cut off as Andrew stepped through the door along with Jonathan. In the tense stand off between the two they hadn't heard the sound of the car pulling up. In an instant Andrew had his gun out and pointed at Art. Surprised, Art pointed his gun towards Andrew.

"That's why you left early, why you asked for the key for today, you never do that."

Dean again can't believe the insane luck of the situation. For all appearances it looked as if Art had intended to get away with Sam while having gotten the drop on Dean.

Art was too shocked by the turn of events to reply.

"Makes sense why you never hit the thing, wouldn't touch it, you did that to get its trust, didn't you?"

Ellie and Hub walked into the room. Hub stared between the two guns for a moment.

"What the hell? Why're you pointing a gun at Art?" his hand was already starting to move towards his own weapon.

Jonathan pulled out his own gun and leveled it at Hub before the man could withdraw his own gun.

"Don't do that." Jonathan said calmly.

"I bet you freaking waited until you had it's trust, till you could make it do things. Make it do what it did last night."

There was a cold silence as the implication of the accusation settled. Andrew was accusing Art of causing the death of the two hunters.

"I didn't kill those two."

Andrew smiled at Art's denial. The next second he pulled the trigger and Art collapsed to the ground dead. Hub screamed, rushing at Andrew. Jonathan's gun went off and the floor was littered with another body. Moments passed and then Sam collapsed, his exhaustion and pain finally making him succumb to unconsciousness. Andrew paused a moment.

"Ellie, untie Dean and you two take care of the bodies. Me and Jonathan will deal with it."

Ellie came over to Dean and began untying him, wide eyes watching him. Dean was pale and shaky, thrown by the completely merciless and exact actions of Andrew. He didn't think he'd ever meet someone as evil as a demon but the man was proving to be insane and ruthless. Dean helped Ellie drag the bodies outside and light them up in the dirt. As soon as they were done they headed back inside where Andrew was packing the things up.

"Jonathan is in the van with it. We get packed up and we leave now."

They didn't argue and within a half an hour everything was packed and the Pontiac picked clean. Dean drove his baby while Ellie and Andrew were in the white van, the mini van was taken by Jonathan. The drove, heading north and going towards West Virginia. Stopping only a few times they followed the white van to another house on the outskirts of Dunbar. The transfer of items into the house was quiet and tense.

"I'm going to go out and pick up supplies." With those last words, Andrew left.

Some of the tension seemed to slip out of the room with the sound of the car pulling away. The entire day had been fraught with stress and Dean felt as if every nerve was on end. He couldn't imagine how Ellie was feeling, four people she knew had just been killed in the last day. He eyed her from where she was seated at the table cleaning a gun. Jonathan had been in a back room with Sam, now he was staring unabashedly at Dean.

Dean resisted the urge to shudder and continued sitting at the table nursing a cup of coffee. There were only three people and Dean had dealt with situations a lot worse than this. The picture of Sam and his broken body rose to his mind and he felt reluctance filling him. If he couldn't guarantee that he could get Sam out then there was no point. But only two were here. If he took Ellie out and killed Jonathan, he would be able to get Sam out. He could try using Ellie as a hostage. The thought was immediately dispelled as he recalled how easily Johnathan had pulled the trigger and killed Hub.

Dean had tried calling Castiel but the angel hadn't answered, the angel hadn't even called back. Dean had been hinging part of his getting Sam out on the angel's appearance. With Cas not even communicating with him he was hard pressed to think of what else to do. Dean shuddered as he felt the back of his neck prickle.

Dean glanced up to see Jonathan still staring. He raised a brow. Jonathan continued staring.

"I don't swing that way."

It was ill humor and sounded out of place after everything that had just happened. Jonathan just smiled.

"That's good. Andrew doesn't have much patience for that kind."

Jonathan was still staring and Dean was getting unnerved by it.

"We don't know much about you Billy."

Dean smiled tersely, thinking about how he could incapacitate Jonathan without having Ellie blow his head off. The woman may be more human than the rest but she was still just as willing to use her gun if he proved to be a threat and Dean had no doubt that Ellie wouldn't miss.

"I don't know much about you." Dean retorted smoothly, not batting an eye.

Both stared each other down, Jonathan's gaze reptilian and harsh, Dean's unyielding. The sound of a car pulling up outside drew his attention. Dean cursed silently, what was Andrew doing back so soon? His plan of getting Jonathan alone was crushed and tossed to the wind as Andrew stepped into the room, hair wet and clothes partially soaked. His face was thunderous and his jaw clenched making the stress lines in his face sharpen.

All three were looking at him expectantly, Dean and Ellie with slight trepidation. He didn't say anything to explain himself merely glanced at the three before fixing Dean with a strange look.

"Jonathan, Dean, I need you two upstairs."

Dean got up, body tensing in preparation to act. With only the two upstairs, if they weren't on guard, he could probably take them out. Andrew lead the way and Jonathan lingered, his gaze still never leaving Dean. Dean paused a moment, waiting for Jonathan to go up first but the man didn't move. Prickling with unease Dean moved to follow after Andrew. They moved up the stairs and Dean knew exactly where they were going. They were headed to Sam's room. Andrew opened the door and stepped through followed by Dean and then Jonathan.

Dean saw Jonathan pull out a gun, safety off and in his firing arm. When Dean looked at him he just said

"In case the monster gets out of hand. We don't need to lose anymore people."

Jonathan's gaze was unnerving and Dean was positive that Jonathan didn't believe in what had gone down that morning between Dean and Art. Heart racing Dean tried to keep himself calm. Andrew nodded approvingly to what Jonathan had said before turning to Dean with a smile on his face.

"I figured you would want to help."

Andrew extended a knife to Dean and Dean felt his face blanch despite his best efforts. Andrew noticed and let out an amused laugh.

"Come on Billy, it's just a bit of torture. God knows the thing deserves it."

Dean looked at his brother, something he'd avoided doing since he'd stepped into the room. Sam's head was buried in the blanket and he was shaking. Dean felt himself trembling at the thought of touching his brother with the knife. He surreptitiously glanced back at Jonathan who kept his eyes on Dean, the gun in hand. The man had positioned himself too far away from Dean for him to be able to get to him before he got in a shot.

Andrew was waiting for an answer. Dean's throat was dry as parchment and he barely managed a small weak smile and a head nod. The knife's handle was pressed into his hand and a hand was placed on Dean's shoulder.

Dean could fight, he knew he could. He'd taken on more than just two men. However he usually had someone backing him up, namely Sam. The likely thing would be that both would respond to him attacking and even if he could get one down he would most likely end up injured and then there was Ellie downstairs, the gun would be fired and that woman wouldn't come up unarmed. If Dean died Sam couldn't protect himself and his brother would be stuck here God knows how much longer. Dean cursed silently as he looked down at the knife and began to see it as his only option. Looking over at his brother he wondered if Sam would look up and see him, see his big brother condemning him and hurting him.

Dean's fingers tightened around the knife and he stepped forward, hand reaching out to seize his brother's shirt and yank him forward. Sam's head snapped up and he was staring at Dean, hazel eyes meeting green. Dean almost stopped, he couldn't do this, he couldn't hurt Sam when his brother was looking at him like that as if he was the whole world and more. Stupid bastard shouldn't trust him, shouldn't look at him like he mattered at all.

The only good thing about this, Dean laughed at the thought that any of this was good, was that Dean could be sloppy in the torture. He knew where it hurt the least and he knew he could cut where it would be more difficult to see the scarring. Not that scarring mattered much Dean thought as his eyes traced over the many scars decorating his brother's skin.

Taking the knife Dean slowly dug it into his brother's shoulder. Sam's eyes widened and he looked at his brother fearfully, but he didn't make a sound. Dean tore his eyes from Sam's face and focused on the shoulder and where he was cutting. He could do this, he just had to think of it as someone else. Dean willed his mind to shut out the flop of brown hair just inches away. He dug in a little further, knife carving Sam up more. There was a small whimper of pain and Dean's hand faltered.

He could do this, he could. The blood was bright and he could smell it from how close he was. His stomach turned and he kept pressing, using the knife to mutilate his brother. It went on, minutes that felt like hours. Finally Andrew placed a hand on his shoulder. Dean looked at his brother and saw that Sam had fallen unconscious, his whole right shoulder dripping blood. Sam looked so pale, Dean felt like he was going to vomit.

"That's enough. We don't need him dead." Andrew said with a chuckle and congratulatory pat on Dean's back.

Dean stood, head spinning. He stumbled to the wall and tried taking in deep breaths. Andrew was watching with an amused smile on his face while Jonathan seemed to have relaxed, his face also showing approval.

"First time torturing, huh?"

All Dean could do was nod. They had no idea, the bastards. He watched as Andrew pressed into Sam's shoulder and his brother's mouth flew open in a cry of pain, body writhing under the pressure. Andrew proceeded to wrap Sam's shoulder, any semblance of being careful not present. Sam's eyes were shut tight and he was breathing raggedly. Dean stepped from the room and proceeded to rush to the bathroom where he threw up in the tub. Gasping for breath he felt guilt and shame rush through him. He'd failed in every way, failed his brother.

* * *

The days were still threaded together for Sam, a mass of proceedings that seemed to meld together. There were painful days and than the more painful days. The only thing that seemed memorable were the strange new hallucinations with Dean. Dean threading his fingers through Sam's hair like he had done when they were little. Dean setting his head on his lap as if Sam were still his kid brother and needed comfort. They were warm moments of peace Sam couldn't remember experiencing, even before his seemingly perpetual capture. They always felt so much more real than other hallucinations he had before. He could actually still feel the lingering warmth of Dean's hands after the image and left. Sam was so grateful for it, and he wondered if this was Lucifer's new tactic to getting him to break down.

Then Dean had appeared during one of his outings with the hunters. The hallucination so vivid, Dean's shouts sounding so real in his head that Sam had actually wondered and for a little while he'd believed. And then Dean had stepped in the room and taken a knife and started to carve into him. Injuring his shoulder so it matched the other. The real Dean would never do that, so Sam knew he was just hallucinating, losing his mind a little more. Then Andrew had taken over and Sam was absolutely sure that Dean was just a hallucination so he'd clenched his eyes shut and tried to lose himself in memories.

* * *

Andrew came out of the room later with Jonathan, both had blood covering their hands. Dean felt sick again. Andrew patted Dean on the shoulder and smiled again. Dean wanted to break the man's jaw so he could never smile again.

"We're going to go on a supply run. You'll be here by yourself. We'll be gone for a while."

Despite everything, Dean felt a bit of hope raise up. His actions in torturing in Sam had seemed to solidify the two men's trust in him. Dean nodded. The key to the manacles was pressed into Dean's hand and both Andrew and Jonathan were walking back down the stairs. Minutes later Dean heard all three step out and the car pull away. It seemed like a miracle, all of them gone and Dean left alone with Sam once again. Rushing from where he was standing, Dean went into the room and bent down next to his brother.

"Sam! Sammy." He gently held his brother's face, tenuous joy breaking across his face desperately.

Sam's eyes flickered open for a second and his mouth turned up in a slight smile.

"Dean." He sighed. Sam tried leaning into his brother, seeking comfort. But Dean pushed him back, needing to get both of them out of there.

Dean let out a stuttering breath and began unchaining his brother.

"We're getting out of here Sammy, we're getting you out."


	5. Chapter 5

Te Deum: Chapter 5

* * *

The walk to the car was painstakingly slow, not even a walk so much as an awful crawl that left Dean's body tense and exhausted from supporting most of his brother's weight. For all his weight loss and muscle decay, Sam was still large and difficult to manage, because of the sheer awkwardness of his height. Six feet and four inches wasn't easy to handle.

Eventually they made it to the car, Sam still mostly delirious and teetering on the edge of consciousness, as the jostling of the trip to the car had stripped him of what little energy he had had. Dean loaded up the Impala with everything that was his and quickly tucked Sam into the back seat.

He pulled out of the place, mind wandering to what options they had, where he could go. Unfortunately, a car like his was pretty easy to follow and Dean didn't know how determined these hunters would be to get Sam back or to just have their revenge on Dean. Gas guzzling, sticks-out-like-a-sore-thumb, beautiful, Baby. They would manage somehow. Dean started the car and pulled out, wheels catching the dirt and screeching as they left. Dean wanted to forget it all, to burn the house down and to tie up every person who had taken his brother and treated him like a monster—to throw them in the house and listen to them scream.

Dean glanced in the rear-view mirror at Sam. He was unconscious, chest rising and falling and body folded up in the back seat. There was blood oozing from his wounds and his mangy hair was splayed across his face. Dean felt anger rise in him, a tight fist clenching in his chest. First though, he needed to get away, far away.

It wasn't until nearly two hours had passed and Dean had crossed a state line that he thought about where they were going. Bobby was an option, a weak one though since the Winchester name was closely associated with the Singer name. Dean thought about another option. Rufus had a cabin he kept open in case he needed to make a run for it. No one really knew about it, Dean himself wasn't supposed to know about it, but a few months back he'd needed a place to lay low and the older hunter-though he'd grumbled reluctantly about it- had let Dean stay there. The water was always on and it had a generator. It was about a state away, in Illinois.

Dean decided on that, changing from a state freeway to an interstate. He glanced back again at Sam. His brother looked the same but he still felt anger and an explosive grief rise in him. The red blood seeping through bandages reminded him of the knife he'd held in his hand. He'd carved Sam up, hurt him. Dean's stomach churned unpleasantly again and he swallowed back bile.

Dean reached a hand out, groping through the glove compartment searching for his phone. He pulled it out and turned it on, eyes flicking down briefly to press speed dial. It rung, and rung, until the tone sounded indicating he should leave a message. Dean cursed softly and shut the phone. Cas still wasn't answering. He wasn't surprised. However, he noticed that he had a missed call, several in fact, along with a message. They were from Cas. Dean looked between the road and the phone. It was late, so there weren't many people on the road. Dean made a split-second decision. He pressed play on the voicemail and brought the phone up to his ear.

"—Nebraksa. Do not try to find me, the angels after me are not Zachariah's. I'm afraid other angels have become interested in fulfilling Michael's destiny. They have been difficult to avoid; however, I believe that I can elude them within the next few days. Tell me your location and I will come to you in a few days."

Dean was slightly confused, Cas had yet to master the use of a phone and had started relaying his message before the tone. He didn't know what Cas meant about Nebraska but it seemed like the angel would possibly be able to help him out soon. Letting out a breathy sigh, Dean threw the phone down on the passenger seat and gripped the wheel with both hands.

It was a long drive and Dean only stopped for gas. Sam stayed unconscious, his eyes only flitting open once or twice but each time he was completely out of it, glazed eyes rolling around, staring at things that weren't there. He was burning up with fever and still had his numerous injuries from the demon and the hunters. Dean managed to get his brother half way to his feet and dragged him awkwardly to the small cabin. The first stop was to the bathroom—Sam reeked.

Dean somehow settled Sam in the tub, but when he tried to pull away, Sam's hands tightened on his biceps.

"Don't go," he whispered.

Dean froze. That was the most coherent statement Sam had made since Dean had found him. Up to then, the extent of his communications had been mumblings of "Dean" and "no."

"Sammy, I gotta give you a bath, okay?"

Sam tightened his hold again and began muttering a litany of refusals.

"Come on, Sam, we can't do this."

Dean wrenched the hands clutching him free and Sam let out a pained cry.

"Sammy," Dean said imploringly.

Sam was a mess in the tub, staring up at Dean with tears trailing down his cheeks. It hurt to see Sam like this and it kindled a burning anger at everything that had led to this.

"You came back, don't leave again," Sam pleaded.

Dean tried to speak past the lump in his throat but he could only manage a small nod and "Okay, Sammy, I won't leave."

Sam seemed to relax some, but his eyes stayed fixed on Dean, wide and crazedly. Dean reached for the faucet to the tub and turned it on. As soon as the water ran out Sam was scrambling to get out of the tub. Dean cursed as he tried to hold back a storm of long limbs.

"Sam!"

Sam continued struggling.

"It's just water Sam, nothing else. Just taking a bath."

Sam calmed immediately and fixed Dean with a wary gaze, as though he was lying and it was something else. Dean stuck his hand under the running water.

"No pain, see?"

Sam nodded and blinked. Then he began taking his clothes off, stripping till he was just in his boxers and thankfully, stopping there. Dean felt slightly relieved, it seemed Sam was still in there somewhere. He gave Dean another look, one which expressed his discomfort with Dean watching him bathe. Dean took his cue and began to rise.

"Dean?" Sam sounded terrified and worried.

Dean turned and looked at Sam. His brother had his legs drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around them.

"Right, I won't leave." Dean said and then proceeded to kneel back down on the floor.

Sam relaxed some but continued to watch Dean as the bath filled the rest of the way. This time it was Sam turning the faucet, shutting the water off. There were a few minutes where Sam carefully scooped water up and onto himself to bathe. Dean turned and grabbed a cup off the counter and handed it to Sam. Sam fixed him with another strange look and took the cup.

"You're real?" Sam's voice was ragged and torn, shredded by screams and plagued by lack of use.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, Sam, I am."

Sam nodded, but he didn't quite seem to believe it.

* * *

Sam had gone in and out of what had seemed like a strange dream. Hours spent laying in the back of the Impala, breathing in the scent of its leather seats and blinking his eyes open occasionally to take in the back of the bench seat and Dean's head. There were no hunters, there was no Lucifer. The monotony of his life was crumbling.

The car made pit-stops once in a while, but they were short and soon the Impala was rumbling beneath him, coaxing him into sleep.

Then it stopped and stayed stopped.

The door had opened and Dean was pulling him out, taking him gently from the car to a cabin and then into a bathroom. Dean had switched the water on and all Sam could think of was the many things the hunters had done to him while in bathtubs. Electrocution, drowning, suffocating him to let him up and then repeating the process. Sam couldn't think anything other than getting away, but Dean was talking and nothing was hurting. He stopped and stared at his brother.

Was Dean real? Everything had changed; Sam was so used to his previous condition, used to being treated as a monster, as something inhuman. Then Dean had tried to leave, which wasn't okay with Sam, not until he knew Dean wasn't leaving for good.

And so, Dean had stayed.

Was Dean real? His brother's arm felt real beneath his hand, the fabric of his leather jacket had the same old worn feel. The hand and palm he held were calloused as usual, the scar that had been nicked onto Dean's knuckle when he was nine bumpy, the too-real shine of his brother's eyes and the few wrinkles pressed up and pinned to his face. It was all real, completely real.

He hadn't bathed in such a long time. It felt strange to be in a room with his brother, his torturers gone and actually, really with his brother. Dean hadn't forgotten him, Dean hadn't left him. Dean hadn't left him. Sam felt tears rolling down his face and a smile turning his lips up. He looked at Dean, his brother who had found him despite the number of times Sam had failed him. Dean hadn't forgotten him.

He watched Dean's eyes flicker with pain, discomfort, and anger. But his brother smiled anyway, a weak watery smile, but a smile nonetheless.

* * *

Dean watched Sam finish bathing, unplugging the bath and letting it drain. Dean stood up, setting a towel on the toilet.

"I'm going to be right back Sam, I just have to grab you some clothing."

Sam didn't say anything, still watching him. Dean came back with a pair of boxers, sweats, and a t-shirt. Sam was still sitting in the tub, arms looped around his knees and gaze settling on Dean in panic, not relaxing until he was sure Dean was really there.

"I'll be right outside so you can change. Yell if you need help."

Sam made no response and Dean awkwardly backed out, shutting the door. He hovered at the door listening as Sam climbed out of the tub and began changing. There was a small sound of pain and Dean flung the door open. Sam was struggling to pull the sweats up, his mangled leg inhibiting him.

Dean surged forward and gently eased the sweats up. It was difficult seeing Sam like this, covered in scars and bruises. Injuries that were now clean would need to be re-stitched. Sam was thin, too, a broken fragile thing, nothing like the tall strong person Dean could remember. There was a swirl of emotions surging in him, mainly anger at the hunters who didn't deserve to be called humans, but also other things. Along with all the care and love for his brother there was anger and frustration, disappointment and fear.

Sam put a hand out, seemingly reaching for Dean. It faltered, beginning to slip back down to Sam's side. Dean caught it. Sam looked up but Dean didn't meet his brother's gaze.

"Let's get you into bed."

Sam mutely followed Dean over to where a bed was positioned in the corner of the small cabin. He helped Sam lay down and watched as his brother curled up in the blankets, tightening into a ball and then peering out from beneath them. It was almost funny, Sam looking like a giant child who was afraid of the monster under the bed, if not for those hazel orbs staring out, wide and unwavering, as if the moment he blinked Dean would disappear. It was unnerving, as the whole experience so far had been. The emotions were starting to catch up to him and the fevered daze of finding Sam and facing down monsters posing as humans was setting in.

"Sammy, go to sleep." Dean was trying to smile, struggling to make his wavering and numbed lips push into a smile and make that smile enter his voice.

He fell quite short of his intended effect, but Sam, all the same, blinked once and then pulled the blanket over his head. Dean was tired, that kind of tired which weighs you down and envelops your soul. He hadn't felt this much emotion in his entire year with Cas and the sudden re-submergence in it was frazzling him. Speaking of Cas, Dean's mind turned and he wearily pulled out his phone, sinking onto the chair in the tiny kitchen. He could see the cot where Sam was now lying.

Dean was angry, exhausted, despair filled, confused; a bundle of sticks which had been broken in two and scattered mindlessly about. Dean had no idea how to feel. There was anger at the hunters and at his brother. If Sam hadn't started the apocalypse, if Sam hadn't pushed him out, if Sam had just picked up the phone, if Sam hadn't-. Dean ran a tired hand over his face and through his hair. If, if, if; the stupid useless possibilities that had nothing to do with the present. Dean couldn't change the past. He looked down at his phone.

Dean thumbed to Cas' contact despite having the angel on speed dial. He was tired, exhausted in every form of the word and trying to process some unpleasant emotions that were buzzing at the edges of his mind. He wavered, finger hovering over tapping the call button. He sighed, tapped the button and brought the phone up to his ear.

It rang, the soft electronic chimes echoing in his ear. Three times it echoed, and then there was a gravelly voice at the other end.

"Dean."

"Cas, I got Sam."

"That's good. I have escaped those chasing me, for the moment."

"I'm out at this cabin, over in Illinois. I'm in a cabin about ten miles north of Dixon. You think you can make it here?"

"I believe I can. Give me a moment."

Dean heard the connection end, and he pulled the phone away from his ear, eyeing it with a tired expression. He was too tired to be bothered by Cas'ss strange behavior. A few minutes passed.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean spun around to see Cas standing by tiny table.

"Where is your brother?"

Dean motioned toward the cot with his head.

"He's sleeping."

Dean looked up at Cas, a question on his face.

"I have been avoiding some angels, others outside of Zachariah who wish to bring about the fight between Lucifer and Michael. They are more primitive in their search but have made up for it in their aggressive interest in finding you and your brother."

Cas paused, eyes trailing to the cot where Sam was. "Where has your brother been?"

"With hunters, Cas. They tortured him and kept him like an animal, they were using him to kill demons. He's messed up real bad, Cas."

Cas's face became shadowed with sorrow and regret.

"This is my fault. I insisted that we leave him be, I believed he would be safe."

Dean shook his head. "Doesn't help the problem, now." He said it with anger, the emotions he'd been holding in for nearly two years starting to pour out.

"Problem?"

"Sam can't walk very well. His leg is screwed up. On top of that, he's mental. Taking care of him we won't have time to work on the apocalypse. On top of that I just pissed off a group of hunters. Sam's more than useless now, he's a burden."

Dean felt the frustration and anger welling up, his feelings spurting out in angry words that he knew, deep down, he didn't truly believe.

"As if our world couldn't get more screwed up, now we have to deal with Sam."

Cas tilted his head to the side, confusion at Dean's biting tone and now curiosity at Sam's condition making him perform his peculiar habit.

"You wish you had not found your brother?"

"Yes!" Dean shook his head. "No! It's just. . .we don't have time for this Cas. Sam's the one who started the apocalypse and I'm still having to clean up after him."

"Dean—"

"He left me, Cas, he's the one who walked out the door and left me bleeding on the floor, and I'm happy he's back and alive, but, Cas, he walked out again! He told me he shouldn't be hunting, just left after ending the world, telling me that he couldn't stay with me! That I'm still not worth it! Fuck, Cas! I can't do this! I can't keep taking him back every time he needs me and then watch him walk out when I need him!"

Dean was panting, realizing suddenly that he had stood up during his diatribe. Cas's gaze wasn't on him, though. It was fixed off to the side. Dean followed his gaze and saw Sam's intense hazel eyes peering out from the blanket, hair showing just a little. Dean felt an intense guilt immediately form, heavy in his gut, making him feel like throwing up. It was overwhelming and in an instant, he covered it up with anger.

Continuing in a quieter voice, he said, "We should finish this outside."

Cas didn't respond, instead exhibiting a mixture of confusion and concern. The intricacies of human relationships especially those on the level of the Winchesters, puzzled him. He followed Dean outside, pausing a moment to look back at Sam.

Dean had tried to hold onto the anger he had felt, but his guilt was like a tidal wave, and as soon as they stepped outside it rushed over him, bringing torrents of grief with it.

"I don't hate Sam, I think that's what makes it worse. I can't hate him, Cas."

Cas looked on, his perplexity growing. Dean was still talking about Sam. The look on Dean's face was also strange: grief and pain and sadness mixed with a strange glow of love. Cas struggled to discern these emotions, let alone actually understand them.

"I'd still sell my soul for him."

Dean was staring off now, tears falling from his eyes.

"When did things get this messed up, Cas?"

"I believe the current set of affairs has been as such long before either you or your brother were born. Though I suppose it started truly when your mother sold your brother to save your father, this has always been your intended fate, as is has been your brother's. I suppose it is debatable exactly when it started."

Dean stared at Cas, the tears drying already.

"Yeah—" Dean stopped, contemplating his next words. He shook his head and Cas tilted his head in confusion again. "Let's just worry about fixing Sam and throwing off these angels after us."

Dean turned and went back inside, leaving Cas outside and extremely confused. The angel was confused as to what exactly had gone on, trying to process the individual emotions that many people instinctively read and understand.

* * *

Sam had ducked under his blankets, wanting to make his brother happy despite not feeling like he could sleep a wink. He wanted to watch Dean, see his brother, drink in the sight of him. He had missed his brother, the only thing which had kept him sane in any way, had kept him from saying yes and collapsing. He could tell that his brother was unhappy, too.

Sam had sat curled under the blanket, eyes closed and breathing quietly so he could hear his brother's movements, assure himself that his brother was there with his ears instead of his eyes. He could fight the devil with Dean—he knew he could. He listened as his brother called Cas and then listened as the angel appeared.

Then Dean had spoken and been honest. Sam felt his whole head spin with shame. He had let his brother down so much and Dean had never let him down, never done anything Sam hadn't deserved and had worked so hard to help him. Tears bit at his eyes and he peered out from the blanket. His heart constricted as he saw the pain on Dean's face. He had put that there, he had done that. Sam had hurt someone else all over again.

Dean felt all this and he had still saved Sam and comforted him.

Sam watched his brother walk out and Cas follow, the angel's eyes meeting his for a moment before moving away.

Sam had caused this, created the apocalypse. He had brought it upon himself, the torture, the pain, everything. It was deserved and well-earned. Sam, though, was going to fix that, he was going to change it all.

* * *

Cas promised to watch over the both of them and make sure to awake Dean if anyone approached. Dean had walked back inside, immediately looking toward his brother. Sam had disappeared back under his blankets. Dean felt his heart fall just a little while at the same time feeling relieved at not having those eyes boring into him.

Dean started to settle on the cot that was pushed up against the other wall, adjacent to Sam's, and was going to head to sleep when a thought occurred to him.

"Cas."

The angel looked up from where he was staring at a porn magazine he'd pulled from the dusty bookcase next to the front door. It was one from the eighties, crisped with age, and most likely had been put there by Rufus.

"You think you could go out and get some medical supplies and other stuff? I'm beat and we haven't got anything for tomorrow."

Dean stood and pulled out his wallet, offering Cas a hundred dollars in twenties.

"Make sure you get pie, 'kay."

Cas stared at the money in his hands like he had never held any before. (He probably hadn't, but Dean was too tired to care.) He rolled back into the cot, eyes closing and mind following quickly.

Cas stood there, staring at the green papers in his hand, before disappearing with a flutter of wings.

* * *

It wasn't until late morning that Dean was awoken, a gentle hand shaking his shoulder. He turned over, blinking the sleep from his eyes to see Cas leaning over him, a worried look on his face.

"Dean, something has happened."

Dean blinked a few more times and sat up.

"Sam is gone."

Dean felt a jolt of panic go through him. True to what Cas claimed, the cot where Dean had left Sam was empty and the cabin vacant.

"Cas, where'd he go? What do you mean he's gone?!"

Dean was on his feet, still wearing the clothes from the day before, hair mussed and eyes increasingly more alert as he scanned the cabin for his brother. Cas shifted uncomfortably.

"I did as you asked. However, it was much more complicated than I had anticipated. The workers of the store could not explain to me why they would not cook pie for me. I came back minutes ago and found your brother missing, so I woke you."

Dean began tugging his shoes on, mind racing as he thought about why Sam would leave. The evening before came to him and the things he'd said. Sam had left because of him; this was his fault. He had his shoes on and the keys to the Impala in his hand when Cas placed a warning hand on his shoulder.

"Dean." Cas was staring intently out the window, eyes wide and intense.

"They're here."

Dean frowned confusedly, still focused on finding Sam.

"The angels."

A moment passed and then the doors of the cabin and the windows burst, shards of wood spraying out and cutting into unprotected skin. Dean closed his eyes against the barrage, feeling wind whip around him.

"CASTIEL!" A voice boomed, angelic power making it sound inhuman.

A man stepped through, face blazing with fury.

"Dean, you must leave!" Cas yelled.

Dean felt a hand on his shoulder and then everything disappeared.


	6. Chapter 6

Te Deum

Chapter 6

* * *

Sam had waited until Dean was fast asleep and Castiel gone before getting up. Limping as quietly as he could, he pulled on a jacket and grabbed a spare pair of boots. It took longer than he had anticipated, his hands fumbling awkwardly with the laces. He opened the door silently and looked back at his brother, who was passed out on one of the cots. Then, he felt a cold hand grip his heart. Leaving was terrible; more than anything he wanted to stay by his brother. But Sam was a liability, one which his brother couldn't afford.

So he shut the door and stumbled around, searching for something he could use to help him walk. The town was ten miles or so away, but Sam was intent on walking out of his brother's life. Once in town, Sam planned on getting as far away as possible from his brother, in order to focus on refusing the Devil. He found a sturdy branch behind the cabin that was a good height, then headed out.

The cabin wasn't exactly in the middle of nowhere; it was situated near the Rock river, relatively proximal to civilization. Sam walked along, following a dirt road until it morphed into a paved road after a time. Hours slipped past, and, with their passing, the pain in his leg mounted continually. A horn sounded, and Sam turned to find a truck slowing to a stop next to him on the road. The window rolled down and a concerned-looking man peered out.

"You alright?"

Sam gave a short nod, face pinched in pain and pale from the exertion. Honestly, he felt like he was going to pass out. The man seemed to consider his response before his furrowed brow shifted into a kinder smile.

"Well, I'm headed to Oregon, just north of here. I wouldn't mind some company."

Sam hesitated, then gave another nod. He hobbled forward to the door and pulled it open. With a surge of effort, he managed pull himself in, and he collapsed back against the seat once he had, closing his eyes as he tried to get his breath back.

The man let him rest a moment, pulling back onto the road.

"I don't mean to pry, but you don't exactly look like you're in any condition to be hiking?"

Sam shrunk away from the man, feeling nervous at the normality of sitting in a car. He pressed up against the door and just shook his head.

The man nodded. "My name's Jordan."

"Sam."

"Nice to meet you, Sam."

* * *

Dean reappeared in the middle of a nearly empty parking lot. He felt like his stomach was dancing a tango with the outside world (he knew its contents would be very soon, at least). Quelling his growing urge to throw up, he looked around and saw. . . nothing. Castiel-the bastard-had left his baby back there with violent, angry, angels. The emptiness panned out into a bigger revelation: Sam was still missing. Guilt and fear overwhelmed him.

Sam was gone, and it was his fault.

Stumbling a few feet, he looked farther around, trying to figure out where he was. Considering Castiel's weakened connection with Heaven, Dean doubted he'd been moved far. To one side, there was a rundown building with red lettering and the words "Conover Square" across its front. On his other side, there were just trees and the road, with older housing across the way. The air had that distinct smell of algae and damp cold spaces that a large, running, river kicks up.

As he walked down the street, Dean passed the building, turned his head and caught halcyon a glimpse of the river. He turned and headed down the street which looked most promising in the way of public buildings. He passed a pub and came to a pharmacy. Dean walked into the pharmacy and headed straight for the cashier.

"Where is this?"

The cashier was a young woman. She looked puzzled.

"Umm... Synder's Pharmacy, didn't you see coming in?"

Dean gave her an exasperated look. "I meant city, state, country. Throw in the county if you'd like."

His demand made her go from confused to startled.

"I-uh- we're in Oregon."

"Oregon?! The friggin' west coast?" He started to turn, "Why the hell did Cas land me here?!"

"Coast? We're not next to the coast, this is Illinois."

Dean stopped and looked back at her. "Oregon, Illinois?"

"Wait, how far is that from Dixon?"

She stared blankly at him. "I don't know, about fifteen miles or so," she frowned. "Are you alright, sir?"

Dean ignored her, instead striding back out of the store. A search of his pockets revealed nothing. He'd gone to sleep in his flannel and t-shirt. Nothing but basic clothes, and, now that he was thinking about it, just socks.

He looked up and saw a 2006 Honda Odyssey.

* * *

Sam had been sleeping, nightmares drifting through his subconscious. A hand was on his shoulder, angry and pulling, trying to hurt him. Then his eyes were flying open and he found himself falling.

"Woah, there!"

A firm hand kept him from falling out of the car. Sam blinked his eyes in confusion as the man pushed him back up into the seat. The man was watching him with worry.

"You alright there?"

Sam gave a small nod. The man stepped back.

"You don't talk much, kid."

Sam shook his head. Sam was reeling from his sudden submergence into society, it was-pitifully-shocking to have another person acknowledging him as a person.

"We're in Oregon now."

Sam didn't respond, eyes cast to the side as he tried to ignore the voice. The man's eyes narrowed.

"Look, are you in some kind of trouble?"

Sam looked up, wide-eyed.

"You don't look good, and there's blood on your t-shirt. I don't know what happened to you, but there are people who can help."

Sam was frozen—he hadn't anticipated this. The man frowned.

"Well, for now I figure I should get you something to eat, and then we'll figure out what to do."

The man gave a nod and got into the car, driving toward the Supervalue. When he'd reached the parking lot, he stopped the car and got out with a short "I'll be back." Sam waited until the man had entered the store before getting out.

He looked around and hobbled away, trying his best to walk normally and without looking harried. He crossed the street and entered a place called Snyder's Pharmacy. The cashier at the front didn't even look up and appeared to be the only one working. It was quiet and empty. Sam thought about what he was going to do next, where he could possibly go. He couldn't get work, not in the condition he was in.

Sam closed his eyes as he felt fear go through him; he was tense and shaky and his mind felt like it was spinning. Nothing was right, and Sam didn't know what he was supposed to be, what he was supposed to do. As he opened his eyes, he saw a familiar car through the big glass window of the pharmacy, a car whose very presence sent terror pounding through him. As it passed, he saw the license plate and his fear was confirmed. It was moving slowly, but it passed by without incident. Sam waited a minute before following.

* * *

Dean clenched his jaw as he saw the van, parked as it was in the pharmacy parking lot.

"Fancy meeting you here."

Dean turned and saw Jonathan staring at him with a nasty gleam in his eye. Dean shifted his stance, body tensing.

"Real pleasure," Dean spit.

Jonathan's face split into a smile. "You know, we managed to track you as far as Dixon. Damn hard, but we did. After finding that cabin you were supposed to be at trashed and empty, we thought you'd given us the slip, the car still there and nothing to track you by."

He tilted his head and a hand came to rest on his hip, where Dean just knew the man was keeping a gun.

"Andrew would say fate brought you here, making us meet by chance like this. Of course, I don't believe in fate, or luck for that matter, though this is damn lucky."

He glanced down at Dean's socked feet.

"Don't even have shoes on!" Jonathan let out a nasty laugh.

Dean considered trying to book it and get away, since it was just Andrew. But the man had the aim of a hunter, so the likelihood of him missing was nonexistent.

"You're going to get into the van, no fighting, alright?" Andrew said coldly. "Otherwise, I'll have no qualms about just shooting you and then taking you back with me."

Dean gave a small nod and turned, walking slowly toward the van.

"Open the van door."

Dean opened it.

"Step in."

Dean started to step in when he felt a needle prick his neck and his vision immediately swam. As the world tilted he felt hands laying him in the back seat before the whole world went dark.

Waking up after being kidnapped and drugged was just how Dean remembered it. His head pounded from the drugs and he was left with that suspended feeling he got after having a one night stand or drinking a lot and not remembering how he got somewhere. With kidnapping, though, he literally had no recollection of how he got where he was.

Upon blinking his eyes open, he saw that he was in some kind of basement, tied to a chair with a gag in his mouth. No one else was in the basement. When he gave it a more thorough examination, he noticed a large cross adorning one wall, the disturbing figure of Christ hanging from it in full agonized color, and he realized that it must be a church basement.

There were boxes piled up in one corner and an old piano that looked like it had seen better days pushed up against one wall. Judging by the crucifix, Dean assumed it was a Catholic church. Minutes ticked by, and Dean realized how well he'd been tied up when the feeling began to return to his hands and feet. Whoever had tied him up had been very thorough. Another twenty minutes passed before someone stepped down the stairs, gun in hand. It was Andrew. Jonathan followed close behind him.

"Hello, Billy! Or should I call you 'Dean'?"

Dean tried to smirk around whatever was stuffed in his mouth, but he wasn't very successful. Andrew stepped over, watching him with glee.

"We almost lost you, but we managed to follow you to Dixon, little monster in tow."

Andrew ripped the duct tape off with one quick movement. Dean spit out the rag in his mouth.

"Where's Ellie?"

"Had to know when to cut our losses. One woman's life is nothing compared to the apocalypse."

"You're a sick bastard, Andrew," Dean spat.

Andrew smiled, amused. "Funny you saying that, Dean, considering you have a monster for a brother."

"Shut up! You don't know anything!"

Andrew just shook his head, kneeling down with a bag. He began to pull things out, all items which Dean recognized, face paling.

"You know," Andrew started conversationally as he lined the things up on the ground, "I'm really not that great at this. Jonathan here is much more knowledgeable about making an effective effort."

Andrew pulled up one particularly nasty-looking device to examine it. "Still, something about torture is just refreshing."

"You know, Sam would scream sometimes, long and loud—breaking those pretty vocal cords of his."

"Shut up!" Dean said harshly.

Andrew stilled. Then he was suddenly standing and had landed a punch to Dean's sternum.

"Should take your own advice, Dean," Andrew said as Dean gasped for breath.

"Anyway, all we want to know is where our monster is."

He picked up a tool, looking it over with interest.

"His name is Sam."

Andrew laughed. "I'll let Jonathan start us off."

Dean's eyes widened as Jonathan walked forward, a strange subdued eagerness in his expression, while Andrew stepped back up the steps, leaving.

* * *

Sam hadn't known what to do after seeing the van, a thing which he associated with pain and misery. He was shaking and his head felt light. His first urge was to run and hide, to find somewhere to curl up and forget ever having seen it. But curiosity and a morbid determination to make sure that it really was who he thought it was kept him from moving.

He made his decision, limping in the direction that the van had driven. It was stupid really: Sam had no money, no way of fighting, and no way of knowing if they had taken a turn or not. Despite all that, Sam kept going, slowly and painfully.

He passed rows of houses, more and more time passing with his every step. He glanced up at the sky, thinking it was probably getting to be the afternoon. He was starting to give up hope as he continued to pass by rows of houses with no sign of the van in sight. He stopped when he saw the red brick of a Catholic church and, there in the parking lot, the van. Sam stilled, again thinking about why he was doing this.

Curiosity urging him on, Sam started to hobble closer but stopped when he saw Andrew stepping out of the church. Panic clutched at him, and he scrambled to hide behind a tree that was close to the sidewalk. Andrew, however wasn't looking his way, and Sam watched as the man got into the van and pulled away.

After a few seconds of catching his breath, Sam steeled himself and began limping across the street. He stepped through the church doors, glancing at the small dish of holy water next to the front entrance. A mass was in progress, the pews occupied by a few elderly people, some of which were walking down the aisle to take the Eucharist.

Sam spent a moment looking at the scene before he ducked his head. He didn't know what he was doing. Despair filled him and he felt the room press in around him. A gentle hand landed on his shoulder and he flinched, jerking away and looking up in fear.

A woman was standing there, smiling inquisitively.

"Are you alright, young man?"

Sam shook his head quickly, ducking down so his poorly cut hair hid one of the scars which curved down the side of his face. The woman smiled less pleasantly, eyeing him suspiciously before walking away.

Sam glanced around the small church, taking in the small office and a door which led down to the basement. Sam saw the woman look at him pointedly before walking over to a priest and talking to him in hushed but urgent tones. Sam looked down at his clothes. He was wearing sweats and a t-shirt, which had dried blood on its shoulder and in other various places.

He was in pain, but he had been in pain for so very long that he ignored it. People hadn't cared what he looked like for so very long that he forgot that he painted a disturbing picture with skewed leg and scars dancing up and down his arms. Sam felt a blush of self-consciousness run through him. He really looked like a monster, just on the outside now.

The woman pointed at him and the preacher turned a concerned eye on him. They ushered into the office and Sam knew that in a moment they would be out and approaching him. Sam headed over to the basement door and opened it, surprised to find it unlocked.

* * *

Jonathan had started quite small, in Dean's humble opinion at least. He used brute strength, inflicting bruises, nothing permanent and honestly, after years in Hell, the pain, though just as sharp, was at a level he had long since learned to tolerate.

"I already told you that I don't know anything," Dean grit out.

Jonathan looked at him impassively, pausing a moment before a curious gleam came into his eye.

"About where you brother is. There are other things, however, that I would like to know. Andrew doesn't quite appreciate the supernatural the way I do, whole species undiscovered or completely ignored. We bypass the possibility of studying the creatures we hunt in favor of killing them. I understand to some degree, but I have no interest in the ending of the world or how humans are going to stop it. I am merely interested in the whole part of our world that scientists are unaware of and that those who know of it ignore."

Dean regarded Jonathan, who had an insane gleam of excitement in his eyes.

"So Mr. Winchester, Andrew's interests aside, I could care less about where that thing you call a brother is. I already gained as much research as necessary from it. The only thing I don't know is its origin."

Dean felt his face pale hearing the way Jonathan spoke about Sam.

"He's human, not a monster. Not sure if you get around that much as a biologist, but my parents, who loved each other very much," Dean said in a condescending tone, "decided to have a baby, and they did this thing called sex. I can explain it to you, if you'd like."

Jonathan hit him with the short pole he had. Dean grunted from the impact to his midsection, air rushing out of his lungs. Jonathan was about to speak again when the sound of the basement door opening and shutting had both men stilling. Jonathan turned, a bit of curiosity on his face. Both assumed it was Andrew, but the footsteps on the stairs sounded different. They had a strange dragging quality to them.

Both men widened their eyes in a way that must have seemed comical, should anyone have been watching at that moment as Sam came into view, pale, with blood seeping through his t-shirt. Sam looked as shocked as they did and Jonathan's face grew into a cruel smile. He took a step towards Sam and Sam stumbled back, terror on his face.

"Don't touch him!" Dean screamed.

Dean had failed and sent his brother away with harsh words, condemning him when he was already hurting. Dean couldn't watch Sam be hurt again. Jonathan ignored his yell, advancing toward Sam, who was desperately trying to scramble away.

"Sammy!"

Sam looked over at Dean, fear and apology in his eyes. Jonathan lunged forward with a knife in his hand. Sam tried to back away, but he tripped over his crippled leg. Jonathan descended on him, and there was a struggle, one which Sam lost quite quickly. The knife was buried once again in Sam's shoulder, and his eyes were glazed over and lost. Jonathan left Sam on the floor and staggered back over to Dean.

"You bastard! I'm going to kill you!"

Jonathan laughed and wiped his hands on his pants, his knife still embedded in Sam's shoulder.

"You're in no position to be making threats. In fact, I'm the only one who will be enjoying that privilege."

Jonathan pulled a gun out of the bag he'd drawn his other torture devices from.

"I'll shoot your brother in the head—" Jonathan pointed the gun at where Sam was on the ground, "if you don't tell me what I want to know."

Dean stared with desperation at his oh-so-pale younger brother. Jonathan walked over to Sam, putting a foot down on Sam's shoulder, next to where the knife protruded grotesquely from his body.

Sam let out a scream which was cut off as Jonathan pushed down harder.

"Sam!" Dean yelled as he struggled, full-bodied, against the restraints, the ropes biting into his skin.

"Don't touch him, you bastard!" Dean wouldn't admit it, but he was crying, tears pouring down his face as he watched Sam in pain.

Jonathan wasn't paying attention and he leaned over Sam and fisted a hand in Sam's hair. He roughly pulled Sam's head up.

"I could slit his throat, we've done that before, haven't we Sam?"

Sam whimpered.

"I'm sure Sam here remembers what it's like to drown in your own blood."

"Stop it, you sonuvabitch!" Dean yelled again, straining harder against the ropes.

Jonathan looked over at him in annoyance before turning his gaze back onto Sam. He pressed a finger against Sam's messed up leg, digging in till Sam was screaming again. Dean was screaming obscenities, helplessness overcoming him as he watched Sam writhe in pain.

Jonathan pulled back slightly, hand coming to caress Sam's face. Sam flinched away, breathing harsh and ragged.

"Strange that he doesn't call out your name anymore. Maybe he finally learned his place in all of this- that he is a monster."

Sam closed his eyes in pain and acceptance at the sentence, and Dean felt grief heavy in his gut. He'd let Sam be taken and told that, and, worst of all, he had allowed his little brother to believe that.

Jonathan looked up at Dean. "So, are you going to answer my questions now?"

Dean looked at Sam and nodded his head.

"What do you want to know?" He asked in a trembling voice.

Jonathan smiled. "The origins of it." Jonathan nodded at Sam.

Dean hesitated, thinking of the long and painful history of his family, especially that of Sam. Neither of them had chosen this, and Sam had been trying his best.

"Demon blood. My brother was fed demon blood as a baby."

Jonathan frowned, turning completely to look at Dean. "That can't be it, no, demon children-" Jonathan raised a hand in confusion. "They can't come back to life, not like Sam can."

Jonathan shook his head.

"What is it?"

Dean set his jaw in defiance glaring up at his captor. "He's my brother."

Jonathan tilted his head and let out a soft sigh of fake remorse.

"If that's the way you want to be."

He turned, gun raised. Sam, however, had risen, shaky and pained, the knife in his hand. Jonathan noticed too late and tried to level the gun at him, but Sam tackled him and they fell in a messy tumble. Dean looked on in fear as both bodies stilled.

"Sammy?" He managed to croak out.

Neither moved, and Dean's panic rose as a pool of blood began to seep and grow from where Jonathan was laying askew on top of Sam.

"Sammy?!"

Dean struggled against the ropes.

"Sammy, you'd better not be dead. You can't be, you sonovabitch, you can't! Not before I've said sorry!"

Still, there was no response. Dean worked with more vigor at his bindings, but it was pointless; the ropes were thick and had been wrapped around him many times.

* * *

Castiel was tired and injured, a long but shallow cut running along his shoulder blades and curving down his back. He sighed at the thought of having to replace yet another trench coat of the same exact characteristics. "And another shirt," he thought mournfully. The human form was extremely unfortunate and cumbersome. He looked at the bodies strewn in the park he was standing in. There were just two, the two angels who had lived and followed him from the cabin.

The other three had died back in the cabin. It was regretful to have to kill his brethren and to have had a showdown which had cost him grace and energy. Now he was going to be stuck utilizing human transportation to find Dean and then to track Sam down. Humans confused him, but something was obviously wrong with the youngest Winchester, and Dean was being human-like and making it worse.

Heading out of the park, he approached the nearest vehicle and studied it, attempting to recall the way in which Dean made vehicles work. If he recalled correctly, one needed to open the door. Reaching a hand out he pulled on it futilely, until loud sounds started emitting from it. Cas looked around in confusion and decided that he probably wasn't pulling hard enough.

An hour later and he was running away from human law enforcement. Human transportation wasn't going to work, so Castiel set out from Dixon toward Oregon, intent on meeting up with Dean.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

* * *

Dean was desperate, knowing that his little brother could be bleeding out, dying, mere feet away, while Dean could only watch.

"Sammy."

Dean stopped calling for his brother when Sam, once again, didn't respond. He re-focused all his attention into trying to get free. It seemed a painful lesson in futility, though, and Dean couldn't help but muttering curses under his breath as he struggled against the ropes. It seemed pointless and after a few minutes he let out a soft huff and rested a moment so he could go at it with more strength again.

The door to the basement creaked again, opening and shutting. Then, there was the sound of the heavy, even, footfalls of someone coming down the stairs. Andrew came into view, smiling, but his good mood quickly morphed into confusion and shock as he registered the bodies on the floor. He eyed Dean before rushing over to Jonathan and Sam. Rolling Jonathan's body away, he gave the man a cursory glance, regarded the knife planted in the man's chest and nudged the body further out of the way.

He reached out a hand for Sam when Dean spoke,

"Don't you dare touch him!"

Andrew barely spared him a glance before placing a hand against Sam's neck. Dean saw the faint rising and falling of Sam's chest and felt relief flood through him. When Andrew withdrew his hand and lifted Sam's head, his hand came back coated in a good amount of blood, and Dean couldn't be sure from his perspective if it was Sam's blood or just Jonathan's.

Andrew let out a soft "tsk" and stood up from where he was squatting next to Sam. He kicked Jonathan's corpse, gazing at it with disgust.

"I thought Jonathan here was at least a little different from the rest. Seems like you Winchesters live up to your name."

Dean glared at the man. Andrew smirked, taking a step toward him. Sam let out a small moan, finally stirring. Andrew turned away from Dean and moved toward Sam.

"One little monster can do a lot of damage. Started out with my group, just me and Jonathan, grew to seven and now we're back to just me."

He knelt next to Sam and Dean felt fear rear up in him again.

"Don't hurt him!"

Like Jonathan, Andrew barely paid Dean any mind. He turned around and wrenched the knife out of Jonathan's chest, producing a sickening slurping sound as he did. With his free hand, he pressed into the wound Jonathan had left Sam. Sam's spine arched as he screamed and burst into consciousness. Andrew withdrew his hand, and Sam collapsed back against the ground, gasping for breath but awake.

"Dean," Sam whimpered out.

"Sam!" Dean yelled back.

Sam's head lolled in Dean's direction, but Andrew seized Sam's face and jerked it so Sam was looking at him.

"Big brother's not gonna save you."

"You leave him alone, you sonuvabitch!"

Andrew ignored Dean, the redundant insults and demands annoying more than anything.

"Should we give him a show before we kill him? Show him what the last year and the rest of your life are going to be like?"

"No," Sam gasped out.

Andrew smiled. "No, what? No show or no killing Dean?"

"Let him go, please. I won't fight." The most words Sam had spoken since Dean had seen his brother, and the most words he'd spoken in the last year.

"Goddamnit, Sammy! No!"

Andrew finally glared over at Dean in response to his numerous outbursts. He stood up from where he was squatting next to Sam and went over to the bag that was sitting near Dean's chair. He pulled out some grey duct tape. He tore a piece off and placed it over Dean's mouth while Dean struggled against the man. Andrew stepped away, and Dean glared at him as venomously as he could.

"That's better."

Andrew turned back to Sam. "We're going to give big brother that show he's been missing out on."

Andrew walked back over to Sam and squatted back down, putting one leg over him so he was straddling him. Andrew then picked the knife up and brandished it threateningly while looking over at Dean.

"When we first got Sam, he was one stubborn bastard. Refused to talk, refused to work with us. So damn determined to act like he was a human."

Andrew looked back at Sam.

"He learned, though. He screamed and screamed. Only thing he would say was 'no' to the demon blood. And then he'd say your name, 'Dean.' Pathetic."

Andrew brought the knife down and Sam flinched away, but his eyes were clouded with acceptance. Dean was struggling still, had been the entire time, but for the first time, he felt some give in his bindings. Any hope of escaping seemed far-fetched, but he couldn't help but feel a bit of hope budding in him, even as he watched Sam bleeding. Aside from what Andrew was going to do, Sam's body was already totaled and there was no way his little brother was going to live if he didn't get some help very soon.

Dean watched as Andrew placed the knife against Sam's chest and began to make cuts, running through the thin black t-shirt and drawing blood. Sam didn't cry out and Dean let out a muffled yell.

Andrew looked again over at him. "No one is coming for either of you. The preacher who owns this church is my friend, and the basement is sound proof so no one will hear you. The Winchester luck is going to run out today."

Dean wanted to tear the man to pieces, to kill him in all the ways he'd been taught by Alistair. He hated Andrew more than the Devil. Whatever anger, whatever spite and blame he had put on his brother, Dean let go of in that instant. Sam hadn't done anything to deserve this, and Dean needed to stop blaming him. Sam had messed up, and despite everything he'd been put through, Sam still trusted Dean enough to be willing to die for him.

When they got out of there, Dean was going to try to make things right, apocalypse be damned.

Dean watched as Andrew stopped his tally marks on Sam's skin and probed his brother's wound again. Sam let out another strangled scream, and Dean grit his teeth against the sound of it. Andrew withdrew his hand and backhanded Sam's face.

"Remember to shut up, okay? Or else I'll be doing this to Dean over there."

Sam glanced fearfully at his brother, but remained silent for the next few minutes apart from a few choked gasps and cries. Dean could only watch in horror as Andrew went after Sam's leg, making his brother pass out from the pain for a minute until Andrew slapped him back to consciousness. Dean kept at his bindings; he was closer to getting free, but not by much.

Andrew wasn't doing any extreme damage to Sam, but on top of everything Sam was still recovering from and the fact that dirty fingers had been in and out of his wound, Sam wasn't going to survive this without a hospital. Andrew sighed as Sam fell unconscious for the second time. The hunter withdrew from Sam and stood up with blood-decorated hands and more flecked along his clothing and skin in places.

The knife, still in his hand, was also covered in blood, now both Jonathan's and Sam's. He stepped purposefully toward Dean, and in that moment, Dean knew that Andrew was going to kill him. Despair filled him as he realized that he had only needed a minute more to escape—not that it would matter, since Andrew didn't look like he planned to toy with him before killing him.

"No!"

Sam kneeled in a struggle to bring his mutilated leg under him to stand. Andrew let out a frustrated huff.

"We'll deal with you later, Sam."

"No!" Sam yelled again, this time managing to get both trembling legs standing.

"I said I'd g-go-" Sam stammered, "you leave Dean."

Andrew's face twisted in anger and contempt. He advanced toward Sam, seized him, and slammed him against the wall.

"You think-" Andrew spat, leaning in with the knife in one hand, "that I care what you said you'll do?"

Sam stared back, eyes wide with fear. Dean almost had the ropes loose, he just needed a moment. Andrew kept the knife at Sam's throat and pulled a gun out of his waistband.

"I'm going to kill your brother, and you're going to come with me and kill demons for me."

He turned partially and pointed the loaded gun at Dean.

"You're my monster, and I'll kill your brother before I ever let him take you."

Sam's fear was masked by a look of anger and determination. "No."

Much later, Dean would say he could've done something, anything to prevent what happened next. He blamed himself for it, and, like most things, he would never forgive himself for it. Sam moved with surprising speed for someone who was not only severely injured but extremely malnourished. He lunged at Andrew and tried to punch the man with his bad hand while attempting to reach for the gun with the other.

Andrew hadn't anticipated the assault, so the two toppled and the gun misfired. Then, both men's bodies were terribly still. A moment later, Dean had the ropes undone. He spent a minute unwrapping the rest of himself, then dove frantically to his brother's side.

Sam was dead, the knife sunk to the hilt in his chest. Dean pressed a hand against Sam's carotid and felt nothing. Desperation filled him and he lifted Sam's wrist, pressing his forefinger violently against Sam's pulse point; nothing. Dean let out a sob.

"No, no. You're fine, Sammy."

He leaned down, pressing his ear against Sam's chest, the handle of the knife just brushing the side of his head. Sam was absolutely still.

"No, Sammy," he whispered, hands brushing his brother's hair back and trying to smile at Sam's lax face.

"No, you'll be just fine."

He slipped his arms around his brother's broad shoulders and lifted Sam up against him, burying his face in Sam's hair. It still smelled like the apple shampoo that they'd used before. Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes, and Dean's body shuddered in a failed attempt to keep in his grief. It had happened so fast. Wasn't Dean supposed to get those last few moments with his brother, get to watch the life slip out of his eyes while still getting to savor the last few seconds of his brother's breathing?

"Goddamnit, Sammy!" Dean yelled, bringing his brother's corpse closer to his chest.

* * *

As an angel, Castiel did not grow tired, nor was he inclined to slow his swift pace of walking during his miles-long trek to Oregon. However, even as an all-powerful angel, he was not disinclined to accept what he knew as the "kindness of strangers" and what Dean called the "rape express." He didn't necessarily understand how holding one's thumb out gained you a free ride from another human, but it was much faster than walking to Oregon.

The current "kind stranger" was a stranger who was indeed, as Dean said, giving him a strange look. The woman in the mini-van appeared for all means to be spending more time staring at Castiel than the road. He believed this human behavior was unsafe. The ten-mile walk which would've taken hours turned into fifteen minutes, and soon they were stopped in the middle of Oregon.

The woman made strange noises and spoke in such a way that Castiel could not entirely understand her. He was even more mystified as her hand moved to squeeze his host's body part used for excreting waste and reproductive matter. He got out, though and the woman finally drove off, leaving him in the parking lot of a building where humans spent time consuming organic material.

In town, Castiel should be able to find the brothers, theoretically. He couldn't sense them, but he could sense the physical displacement the wards on their ribs created, something that was difficult to spot if you didn't know where to look for it. He headed off in the direction he sensed it was in.

* * *

Dean kept running his hands through Sam's hair, as sobs wracked his body and tears poured down his face.

"I'm so sorry, I was supposed to protect you."

There was, of course, no response from Sam. Dean closed his eyes.

"I was so angry and I let that—I let you get hurt for so long."

The warmth was slowly leaving Sam's body and Dean could feel it.

"I was angry, but it was stupid. I remember Missouri always telling Dad that we spent so much time being angry, but before we knew it, one or both of us would be dead. Hunter's don't have time to be angry."

Dean let out a short laugh that was weighed down by a sob. He buried his face back in Sam's hair, eyes closed again.

"Dad never listened, though." He paused a moment, eyes weighed down by grief once more.

"I didn't listen, either."

What was Dean supposed to do now? He couldn't—there wasn't any point to continuing on, not without Sam. He hated himself for having said what he had the other night; he'd known that it would hurt Sam, and he hadn't cared. His brother had been tortured by psychos for nearly a year and a half, and he'd wanted to hurt his brother more. As if Sam hadn't been punished enough.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry."

"Sorry" didn't seem capable of bringing back the dead. Sam was dead. Dean clenched his brother's shirt, wishing that he could do something, take back at least the last things he'd said, let Sam know that he mattered more than anything. Instead, Sam had died sacrificing himself for Dean, thinking that Dean wanted him out of his life and that Dean despised him for his mistakes.

There was the sound again of the basement door opening and of footsteps coming down the stairway. Dean didn't turn to look, only clutched his brother's body closer to him. He didn't care who it was. They stopped at the end of the staircase.

"Dean."

It was Castiel. Dean looked over at him. He met Cas's gaze, then turned back to rest his head on his brother's.

"He's dead, Cas."

The angel didn't respond, but Dean could hear him shift awkwardly.

"Our angelic pursuers have been eliminated," Cas said in an unsure tone.

Dean didn't answer as he closed his eyes again.

"I do not have the power to transport anything, at least, not very far."

Dean held Sam close for a moment before nodding.

"I'll get us a car, stay with Sam."

Cas watched him with worry before nodding.

"Of course, Dean."

Dean stole the shoes off of Jonathan. They were only a size off, and he needed them. His mind felt numb as he walked out of the church basement, ignoring the strange looks he got when the one person in the entry area gawked at the blood on his clothes. He ended up hotwiring a car from down the street, a 1998 Honda Accord, and bringing it over to the church. Cas was able to teleport Sam's body from the basement to the car, but the angel appeared pale and winded after doing so.

The ride back to cabin was only twenty minutes or so, but the silence in the car was heavy, and Sam's body strewn out across the back seat kept pressing into Dean's mind and reminding him that he had lost everything. Cas tried to speak to him once, but, when Dean hadn't responded, Cas had quickly given up. Despite the angel's inability to interpret the nuances of human interactions, he could tell that Dean wasn't in the mood to talk.

The Impala was sitting outside, just as he'd left her, but the cabin door hung off its hinges, only attached to the doorframe at its bottommost hinge. Dean moved Sam's body to the Impala first, not wanting his brother to stay in the Honda. Then, he walked into the cabin, taking in the overturned bookcase and the broken fragments of ceramic ware on the floor with a detached disinterest. The world could be burning, and Dean probably wouldn't care.

Cas followed him in, and they began slowly righting furniture and picking up and cleaning the mess that the angels had left.

"Dean, should we not determine where to continue our search to defeat the devil?"

Dean didn't respond. Cas frowned.

"It would be fruitful to spend our time contemplating this."

Dean spun around, fury and pain on his face. "It doesn't matter."

Cas looked confused, then. "I thought you cared about stopping Lucifer?"

Dean's jaw trembled before he clenched it, grinding his teeth as his eyes, once again, brimmed with tears.

"You don't get it, do you? Sam is dead. I don't care."

Dean turned and went back to picking up the scattered pages of a book.

"How can you not care? This determines the fate of the world."

"If Sam's dead, there's no point in there still being a world."

Cas stopped what he'd been doing, standing with a piece of broken bowl in his hand.

"Your brother would not want you to give up, Dean."

Dean dropped the papers and slammed Castiel against the wall. (Someone should really teach Dean some anger management.)

"And what the hell would you know about what my brother would want?!" he yelled.

Castiel considered him with concern.

"You are not well."

Dean let out a derisive scoff and let go of the angel's coat. He wiped at the tears in his eyes with his sleeve before heading out of the cabin, toward the Impala. Castiel followed, but Dean didn't pay any attention to the angel.

He stopped when he got to the car door, staring at the pale corpse of his brother, laid out awkwardly in the back seat of the Impala. Dean stared for a few moments, imagining his brother full of life and sitting next to him in the car, whining about the music or snoring away with his body jammed up all funny in the front seat. Thinking about it, he could almost imagine Sam's chest rising and falling with breath and life.

Dean stilled, brows furrowing as he leaned down closer to the window to watch Sam. It looked like Sam's hand had just twitched. It happened again and a strange tremor ran through Sam that left his chest clearly rising and falling in its wake. Dean was paralyzed with shock, only able to stare in amazement as his previously dead brother began breathing again.

He rushed to the other side of the Impala, wrenching the car door open and throwing himself onto the back seat to cradle Sam's head in one hand while placing the other over his brother's carotid. He felt a pulse, soft and weak, but a pulse nonetheless. Tears fell down his cheek as he pulled Sam up and into a hug. Sam was still unconscious, though. Dean raised his brother's shirt up, searching for the fatal chest wound. It was gone, along with the many other scars. Sam's body, while still thin, seemed to be free of scars, in fact. Dean checked Sam's leg and found that it was the same there, too, and everywhere else.

Dean remembered with a jolt Jonathan talking about the regenerative abilities of Sam. At the time, Dean had been too stressed and horrified by the situation to really listen to what was being said. Now, he found that he couldn't be happier.

"Cas!"

Cas came over and peered into the car.

"Your brother-"

Dean cut him off. "Cas, help me get him into the cabin."

The two managed to move Sam from the Impala to the cabin, where he was placed on the same cot he had slept in just the night before. Sam was still unconscious, but Dean could tell from years of experience caring for him that he was going to wake up soon.

Dean pulled the blankets up over his brother and demanded that Cas heat up something for Sam. Cas didn't have the heart to inform Dean that the generator had been damaged when all the angels had shown up. Finally, Sam let out a small moan and opened his eyes.

"Sammy?"

Sam blinked in confusion before locking onto Dean.

"Dean?"

Dean nodded before launching himself at Sam and drawing his brother into a tight hug. Sam was limp at first, nonresponsive to the contact, but after a moment he was clinging back to Dean with equal enthusiasm. Dean drew back.

"God, Sammy, I thought I'd lost you."

Sam smiled shyly and ducked his head sheepishly.

"You're all better now, too, no broken leg, no injuries."

Sam's smile faltered but he gave another nod.

"Your brother's physical wounds may be healed but his psychological ones will still be present and just as difficult to work around as his physical ones were."

Dean glanced at Cas, then back at Sam. Sam looked upset by that, and shrunk away from Dean in response. Dean recalled what he'd said the night before and had no doubt that the words still weighed heavily in Sam's memory, too.

"I don't care," he replied confidently, drawing Sam in for another hug. "I wouldn't care even if you still had the injuries. All I need is you, kiddo, nothing else."

Sam didn't respond, and Dean held him for a while until he felt Sam's breaths start to even out into what he knew to be sleep. It had been a very long time since Sam had fallen asleep in Dean's arms. Dean settled Sam back onto the bed, tucking the blanket around his brother and brushing stray locks from his face.

Dean sat and watched Sam for a moment, relishing in the fact that his little brother was really there. Having Sam alive made Dean feel more worthy of his own life. He stayed that way, just watching for a few moments, until he turned and realized that Castiel was still sitting there.

"The generator is not functional."

Dean frowned. "We'll worry about that later, let's just get stuff cleaned up for now. I'd hate to have Rufus shoot me the next time I see him for wrecking his cabin."

They set about putting the cabin back in relative order, Dean putting the door back on its frame and Castiel bringing in firewood and cleaning up the rest of the cabin. Dean ended up going out back and tinkering with the generator for more than an hour before it would work again. Sam slept through it all, his face peaceful in sleep.

Dean heated up a can of chili beans and divided its contents into a mug and the can it came from. Then, he went over to Sam and gently shook him awake. Sam shot upright with terror in his eyes and nearly caused Dean to spill their dinner.

"Hey, it's alright. You're okay. Just me and Cas."

Cas smiled funnily, trying to look reassuring. Sam spared him a glance before his gaze settled on Dean. Sam watched his brother impassively for a few moments and Dean smiled. Sam looked at the chili beans, then back at Dean.

Dean offered it to Sam and Sam took it hesitantly before smiling at Dean and proceeding to eat as though he had been starved. And he had been starved, Dean remembered morbidly. When he had finished, Sam handed the mug back to Dean, who placed it in the sink. Sam watched Dean, and when Dean went to lay down, the younger man seemed disappointed.

Dean looked at Sam, then he got up and dragged the cot over, adjusting it so it was flush against Sam's. Sam smiled, and Dean laid down, allowing Sam to wrap his hand around Dean's.

"G'night, Sammy."

Sam didn't say anything back, but Dean felt the slight squeeze that came from the hand in his.

* * *

Sorry for my crappy updating, it is all me, my wonderful beta seitanspawn has been a perfect and prompt beta. Thank you to all who have stuck with me through this story and who have taken the time to review. Much love and cookies for all and some tea just for seitanspawn.


	8. Chapter 8

Te Deum: Chapter 8

* * *

It had been a week and a half since Sam's death and resurrection and their escape from both hunters and angels. Sam still hadn't talked, nothing above shaking and nodding his head and, once in a while, saying Dean's name. He still flinched away from Dean and sometimes woke up screaming from nightmares.

Dean didn't know what to do to help, he finally turned to Castiel for help.

"How do we help him? He's falling apart, I can barely get him to eat."

Castiel had been staying with them the past week and a half due to his depleted energy.

"Maybe there is something bothering your brother which he has not discussed with you?"

Dean grit his teeth and stared out at the dirt road leading up to the cabin. Sam hadn't been communicating very well, most of that was Dean's fault. Sam saw it as not wanting to complain, being a burden and Dean had only made his brother's attitude worse. It scared him to think that Sam could be hiding something that was hurting him.

"He's not talking to me Cas, I can't force him to just start being honest."

There was a moment as the angel pondered the response.

"Honesty on your part could prove to help your brother open up."

Dean blinked, he hadn't expected Castiel to say that, not considering how secretive the angels had been and how much Cas himself had lied.

"I guess."

They were sitting on the porch in front of Rufus' cabin, Sam was inside sleeping. Night was falling and the softening light was minutes away from disappearing over the horizon.

There was a terrible scream followed by a crash. Dean sprung to his feet and rushed inside the cabin. Sam was in the corner, having knocked over the cot he'd been sleeping on. He was curled up, tightly in the corner, repeating the word 'no' over and over.

"Sam?" Dean said, rushing forward. He stopped just short of Sam, kneeling down so he was eye level with Sam.

"Sammy? You still in there?"

Sam quieted and his head came up from where it was buried in his knees.

"Dean?"

Dean smiled weakly and nodded. "The one and only."

Sam's eyes skittered around the room before they landed back on Dean.

"Dean." He said with more surety. Dean nodded again, trying to widen his smile.

Sam nodded back and slowly came back to himself. He was silent as he stood and started to put the cot back into place.

"You want some help there?"

Sam shook his head and placed the cot up right again, pushing it into the corner and laying back down with the blanket covering his head, he curled up so that it would extend over his legs. Dean felt his hopes falter as Sam withdrew into himself, not turning to Dean for comfort like he used to. Dean felt a sickening sense of failure and turned away.

"Sleep well Sammy."

There was no reply and Dean stepped out again where Castiel was still sitting in the same position.

"I could get drunk right about now."

"I have no alcoholic beverages."

Dean let out a short laugh.

"That was not intended to be funny."

Dean shook his head incredulously and laughed again, this time a little longer.

"Never change Cas."

Cas looked perplexed. There was silence for a while.

"You need to speak with your brother, I know little about human relations but I believe that your brother will not get better without help."

"I told you Cas, he isn't accepting my help."

Cas fixed Dean with an unreadable stare that was unnerving.

"Fine, I'll try it your way."

Cas smiled triumphantly.

* * *

The next morning Sam woke up, the vestiges of the nightmares Lucifer sent him tumbling in his mind. He may have been away from the hunters during the day but at night everything was back and he was just a prisoner. He pulled the blanket down just enough to look out. Dean was in the kitchen area of the small cabin, heating up something which smelled like bacon. Sam poked out just a little more, pleasant memories of when he was younger coming to mind of when Dean would cook him breakfast in the morning. It made him want to be a little kid again. Sam hadn't had bacon in a very long time.

Dean turned around and Sam quickly hid back under the blanket. He listened as he heard the sound of socked feet against the wood floors and then the sound of a spatula scraping against a pan. The footsteps echoed in the kitchen and then they came over to him.

"Sammy, I know you're awake."

Sam stayed hiding under the blanket.

"Got ya something to eat."

Sam pulled the blanket down and saw Dean crouching next to the cot, a plate filled with bacon and eggs balanced on his thigh with a hand. Dean raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"Don't make me eat it all without you."

Sam reached out and grabbed the plate, pulling the blanket down farther and then began to munch on a piece of bacon. Dean smiled and moved from crouching to sitting on the floor next to the cot.

"I know you don't want to talk to me, and I understand. Talking-" Dean faltered and glanced over at Sam. His brother's hazel eyes were staring intently at Dean.

"We don't really do talking, I guess. But uh-I guess I'm saying we should. I said stuff, and I'm not going to claim that I didn't feel some of it. But, Sam, you're my little brother and-" Dean broke off again, eyes tearing up, and he blinked them back.

"There's nothing, nothing I wouldn't do for you. And I, I don't tell you that enough. I spent so much time after coming back from hell, just worrying about the future and about everything else I didn't think about you, just you as my kid brother. I yelled at you and I blamed you, and you've suffered too much. I was supposed to be a big brother and I wasn't."

Dean finally looked over at Sam. Sam had stopped eating and was watching Dean.

"So-uh, I guess I'm asking if you'll let me be a big brother again, and forgive me."

Dean watched Sam for his response but Sam didn't do anything, body completely frozen and eyes wide.

"Sam?"

Sam shook his head and turned away, face burying back into the blanket as he shoved away the unfinished plate of food. Dean swallowed painfully and felt the rejection hit him hard. Anger and frustration came up first and he got to his feet, and taking a deep breath he walked outside of the cabin. He paced on the dirt and then wrenched the Impala's door open, sliding into the front seat.

Muscle memory had his hand reaching out to the ignition but he had forgotten the keys in the cabin and his fingers instead brushed at the area below the instrument panel. Dean closed his eyes and laid his head against the steering wheel. The anger was fading to be replaced by pain and hurt. Did Sam not trust him? He let out a dark chuckle after he asked himself the question. Sam hadn't trusted him for a while, or at least he hadn't trusted Sam for a while.

Letting out a long breath, Dean clenched his eyes shut and tried to just feel the wheel beneath him and breathe. He thought that helping Sam would be hard, but not this kind of hard. He had expected Sam to go along with him and the most difficult part would be helping Sam act like a human again. Something else was wrong with Sam, something Dean wasn't sure he could fix. Almost losing Sam though, watching the light die in his eyes and then realizing that once again he'd lost him, Dean couldn't be angry; but God knew he had no idea how to fix this.

Dean sat there for an hour before he was able to calm down. Finally though, he opened the door and got out, heading back inside the cabin.

Castiel had finally left, early this morning, claiming to continue his search for ways to defeat Lucifer. He had promised to come back by this evening. Sam wasn't on the cot and Dean felt panic rush through him. He calmed down though when he saw the bathroom door open with the light on. He knocked softly on the door,

"Sam?"

There wasn't a response so Dean pushed the door open. Sam was seated in the bathtub, fully clothed and with the water off. Dean frowned in confusion.

"What are you doing in the bathtub?"

Sam's head turned to look at Dean, Sam held his gaze and then looked back down at his feet. Sam shrugged and reached out a hand, plucking at a loose string on his jeans.

"Quiet." Sam said as explanation.

Dean glanced back out at the silent cabin. He nodded, even though it made no sense. Dean walked in and sat on the toilet. He wasn't sure what he should say. There was a moment of silence and then Sam, without looking up, said,

"Sorry."

The tone was earnestly regretful and had Dean thinking about just an hour ago when he'd tried opening up to Sam. He knew that was what Sam was apologizing for. Dean let out a soft sigh and buried his head in his hands. A few moments passed and Dean could feel Sam's eyes on him.

"Sorry."

"Stop saying that Sam."

Dean looked up in time to see Sam duck his head down in guilt.

"Sam, I don't know how to help you."

"Don't have to."

Dean frowned. Sam was still not looking at him and his arms were now wrapped around his legs.

"Sam, why would you think that?"

Sam shrugged. "No good. Waste."

The stilted sentences, the curled up figure and the way Sam seemed absolutely broken. Dean gulped down the lump in his throat, because the Sam he had known through his life, despite how much he'd changed, being small and vulnerable, snot nosed and clumsy, rosy cheeked and too smart for his own good, awkward and teen, confident adult, man struggling with fate; that Sam, through it all, that Sam had been strong, at least strong in some way. This Sam was broken and had no belief in himself. Dean hated it so much, it was Sam, his little brother, who should never be like that. The worst thing was that Dean had been there every step of the way, unable to stop it and in many moments causing the slow deterioration of Sam's happiness, hope, and very being.

"God, no, Sam."

Dean sunk onto the linoleum floor, right next to where Sam was still seated in the bathtub. He rubbed his hand over his face, fighting back the tears prickling in his eyes.

"Why-you shouldn't." Dean was struggling with the words. "You're not a waste."

Dean turned to look at Sam, there was a pained expression on Sam's face, one which was slightly exasperated.

"Bad, I'm bad." Sam said, as though Dean wasn't understanding what Sam was trying to tell him.

"You-you don't. Fix, that." Sam was staring at Dean, pleading with him to understand. "A waste."

"Sam, that's not true, you're not a waste. Is that why you keep pushing me away? You think I'd be wasting my time?"

Dean felt his stomach drop when Sam's face lit with relief that Dean was finally understanding.

"Didn't you listen to anything I said before?"

Sam shrugged again.

"Sam, I want to be here, I think you're worth fixing. That means something right? You're still Sam."

Sam buried his head in his knees.

"You're still Sammy, my Sammy."

Sam didn't respond and Dean got onto his knees so he was facing Sam. "Doesn't that mean anything?"

Sam looked as though he was going to continue ignoring Dean, but then he lifted his head, tears streaming down his cheeks and shoulders beginning to shake.

"Sorry." Sam stuttered out again.

"We both gotta stop saying that, both gotta stop being angry at each other."

Sam nodded and Dean leaned over the tub rim and pulled Sam in for another hug. The last week or so had involved a lot of hugging and crying, more than probably their entire adult lives put together (at least in the sense of them crying in each others presence). Tears had been shed too many times in empty hotel rooms when they were by themselves without the other.

"How about we go work off the estrogen in somewhere other than the bathtub, Castiel is gonna come back and find us doing each others make up."

Sam let out a snotty chuckle, nodding as he started crying harder. Dean helped him up and the two made their way over to the cot where Sam spent most of his time. After Dean settled Sam down he brought over some toilet paper. Sam didn't cry pretty, snot nosed and face slightly swollen and red. Not that anybody could cry for real and look good doing it, that was better left for the actors.

Dean settled next to Sam, reminded of the many times in their childhood when Sam had shed snot and salt water on him. It felt nice, in a nostalgic and hopeful way, to be acting like brothers.

"We're not going to have another intervention in the bathtub are we? You believe me when I say that you're worth it?"

Sam nodded. Dean nodded his own head in response, as if affirming it and making it so no one could say otherwise. Dean felt Sam taper off into sleep. Sam had been sleeping quite a bit, taxed body and mind needing the repose. However it didn't last long before Sam was trembling and thrashing from nightmares. Dean woke Sam up from them, holding Sam as he calmed down. Then Sam was falling asleep again, just to wake again from nightmares.

Dean could tell that something was else was wrong with Sam, something his brother wasn't telling him. He let it go though, figuring that Sam needed the space to approach him about it.

* * *

Days stretched on again and finally Sam seemed to be physically fit enough to do basic things without getting exhausted within minutes. He also weighed a bit more. The nightmares however had continued, and Sam was still dodgy and secretive whenever Dean hinted at Sam opening up about them. Normally Dean would've assumed they were just nightmares from the horror of the last year combined with their life, however, something told him that there was something more going on.

* * *

Sam woke screaming soundlessly from another nightmare, he'd been with Lucifer, the archangel giving him a visual step by step play of what exactly Hell had entailed for his brother. The lights were off and Dean was on the cot right next to him, idly snoring away. Sam focused on his brother's form to bring him down from the images that were flashing in his mind. He needed to reassure himself that Dean was real, that his brother wasn't in Hell burning for him.

"You had a nightmare."

Sam startled at the sudden voice of the angel. Looking up he was both comforted and unnerved to see Castiel sitting on a chair nearby, watching them as they slept. Sam shrugged non-committaly.

"It's nothing."

Castiel just continued staring. "Dean worries about you."

Sam nodded. "I know."

"You have many nightmares."

Sam chose not to face the angel, eyes straining at making out the rise and fall of Dean's chest; it was reassuring just as the slack mouth and absolute abandon Dean seemed to have when sleeping, the only time he ever seemed relaxed. The silence stretched on and Sam turned onto his side so he was facing the wall to avoid looking at Castiel. He couldn't see Dean either though, so he carefully put a hand out, a finger brushing the upturned palm of his brother's hand. Dean twitched in response but didn't wake up.

"Good night, Sam."

Sam blinked slowly, purposefully not speaking.

* * *

It was another nightmare, one which had Sam seemingly convulsing on the cot. Dean rushed from where he was perusing local news on the lap top to kneeling by Sam's side. He'd been doing that quite a bit, his knees twinging at the repeated abuse of slamming to the ground and staying there.

"Sammy?" Dean gently patted Sam's cheek.

"Sam?"

There was a horrible gasping sound and then Sam's eyes flew open, staring straight ahead in terror.

"Dean." Sam whispered, "Dean, Dean-"

"I'm right here Sammy." Dean pressed a hand to Sam's shoulder, trying to ground him.

It took a few moments but it worked and Sam was meeting his brother's troubled gaze.

"Sam, you gotta talk about this."

Dean had been watching Sam be eroded slowly by ongoing nightmares, ones which took his hard work on helping Sam and threw it in a ditch. He'd been waiting for Sam to open up on his own but Sam hadn't. Too much pushing and something had to give; Dean wasn't going to wait any longer.

Sam immediately tried to detour, "Castiel back yet?"

Dean glared at Sam. "He's just outside. We're talking about this though, there's something you aren't telling me."

As soon as Dean said that a flash of guilt shone in Sam's eyes and Dean knew that his gut feeling that there was something abnormal about the nightmares got stronger.

"We talked about this, being honest with each other." He looked at Sam sternly and the guilt grew on his brother's face.

There was a silent stare down as Sam tried to puppy-dog-face his way out of it and Dean threw out his biggest baddest I'm-the-older-brother-you-have-to-listen face. Dean ended up winning, Sam's face crumpling up in resignation and unhappiness.

"Okay." He said softly.

When Sam wasn't forthcoming Dean gently nudged him with his elbow. "Today Sam. I want to know about the nightmares"

Sam nodded. He paused, taking in a deep breath. "Not nightmares."

Dean frowned. "What?"

Sam shrugged, "They're not nightmares, visions from Lucifer."

Dean's eyes widened in worry and fear. "You mean, Lucifer Lucifer? Not just you having a bad dream about him?"

Sam shook his head. "He tries to get me to say yes, I've been having them since he told me I was his vessel back when..."

Sam trailed off and Dean heard the unspoken ' _when you told me you never wanted to see me again. When you said that I make you weaker.'_

"Sam-" Dean trailed off, guilt welling up knowing that he had pushed his brother away at one of his lowest points.

"I-I was wrong."

Sam shrugged again.

"What do you see?"

Sam stiffened and Dean felt his worry ratchet.

"Stuff."

"Like?"

"You, being tortured. What life would've been like if I'd died on a hunt before Dad died. Jess begging me to save her by saying yes. You hating me; torturing me."

Dean nodded, throat tight.

"Every day?"

Sam gave a tiny nod. Dean cursed and rubbed a hand over his face.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Sam shrugged again. "Burden. 'Sides, aren't we already trying to get rid of Lucifer?"

Sam's speech had come a far way from it's regressed state.

"That's not the same, Sammy. We can find a way to help with this, I could've at least been helping you with this."

Sam smiled, "You have."

Dean had been there for nearly every nightmare, comforting at whatever level Sam needed, be that all out chick flick moment with snot, tears, and cuddling or just a soft word of reassurance. That didn't alleviate the guilt.

"Let's talk to Cas, I'm sure he'll have something."

Sam nodded. Dean got up and went outside. The conversation was short as Cas was able to quickly fix the problem, using angel mojo and an explanation that Dean didn't listen to. It didn't really matter though, did it, just as long as Sam was helped.

That night, as Dean watched Sam sleep, both settled in cots a foot apart, Sam slept the whole night through. Maybe, just maybe Dean thought as he drifted off, things would be alright.

 _The End._

* * *

Thank you to all who have followed and reviewed and in general not given up on me! You guys are awesome! Thank you to my beta seitanspawn who has again stuck through this with me and been amazing.


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